Date: Sun, 13 Mar 2005 09:27:29 -0700
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Aaron and Misha" (t/t, celeb, rimming)

Caution/Welcome.  Devastated by the latest spat between his mother and
father, Aaron takes his anger and frustration out on his fellow performers
until his principle dancer, Misha Hamilton, steps forward to ease his pain,
and his own.  Although incorporating many real occurrences, this story does
not reflect nor imply a real event nor the real sexuality of these hot young
performers.  If you do not like reading gay fantasies about celebrities or
about teenage boys getting their rocks off in a hot rimming session, this is
where you stop and hit the back or delete key and wait for the next story.
This is the forty-second of standalone stories in a series of Aaron Carter
and Friends fanfic gay fantasies and chronologically follows the story "Hot
Summer Fun in Albany."  This story is posted at gay adult story sites for
the purpose of adult entertainment.  Permission is not given to copy
electronically for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other
than described without the permission of the author.  Comments can be sent
to the author J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com

AARON AND MISHA

	"Who the freakin' hell stretched this goddamn cable across here?" cursed
Aaron as he kicked at the extension cord he had tripped over.  The cable was
taped down and in exactly the same place as it had been for every other
performance in the tour.  Aaron glared around the stage as if expecting the
person responsible for placing it there to step forward.  "Goddamn freakin'
morons I have to freakin' put up with," he snarled as he gave the cable one
last kick and stormed off the stage.
	He had been in a particularly pissy mood all day, starting right at
breakfast complaining that his bed had been too lumpy and that he hadn't
gotten any sleep, and that his eggs that morning were undercooked and his
bacon overcooked.  The eggs and bacon were no different from any other
morning.  It was true he had not gotten any sleep the previous night, but it
had nothing to do with the bed.  He had griped and moped all the way to
Myrtle Beach and everyone had done their best to avoid him and leave him to
his sulking, which only irritated him further.  He never was a morning
person to begin with, often staying up all night working on his music and
then sleeping until past noon, so his foul mood was not that particularly
unusual.  What was unusual was that it had continued all afternoon.
	During the rehearsal at the Myrtle Beach House of Blues, he had criticised
the lighting, fussed relentlessly with the sound system, had called the
technicians idiots and had threatened to have the whole lot of them fired,
and had criticised his opening and supporting acts.  He had been
particularly sharp with Libby and Brittany from Jump 5, accusing them of
being off on their routine and suggesting it was because of the absence of
Lesley who had come down sick and had to drop out of the tour at the last
moment.  Since it had been the two girls he'd criticized and not Brandon nor
Chris, one of the assumptions of the others on the tour was that Aaron's
real problem was the ongoing fight between Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan
supposedly over him, and the relentless attention the media and his fan
clubs were paying over their spat and his love life, or lack thereof.
	Brandon Hargest knew for a fact that the hissy fit between the two
certainly was bothering Aaron.  He and Aaron had gotten to know each other
particularly intimately when Jump 5 had opened for him on his previous tour
a year ago, and the two of them had been spending a lot of time together
since the beginning of this tour.  He knew that despite his popularity,
Aaron lacked and especially craved female friendships, and that lacking any
particular skills in relating to the opposite sex, he'd approached his
relationship with Hilary and Lindsay in a very juvenile way, the way he
himself would have approached girls back when he was twelve or thirteen.  He
also knew from what little he had heard through the rumour mill, which
operated twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, that Hilary and Lindsay
were two particularly spoiled and strong-minded teenage girls to begin with,
a match for even the smoothest Lothario, never mind someone as inexperienced
and naive about girls as Aaron.
	Brandon figured there was likely another reason for Aaron's irritation
besides, and that was Aaron's frustration in being unable to make any
progress with his fellow performer Chris Fedun.  He and Aaron had spent
every moment alone plotting and scheming how they could seduce Chris--well,
every moment alone that they weren't engaged in sex with each other.  When
Aaron had said he enjoyed sex with other guys more than anything else he had
not been kidding, and he had taken on the project of helping Brandon get
into Chris's pants wholeheartedly.  So far they had tried the usual tricks,
talking about how hot their fans evidently got watching them and wondering
if the girls pleasured themselves later that night, and particularly while
listing to their music, hoping to get Chris talking about female
masturbation, which would lead them to a discussion about guy masturbation.
When that had not worked, they had commented on how hot they got knowing the
girls were hot, and how they were afraid they'd bone up on stage, they had
even gone so far as to wonder out loud in Chris's presence if maybe they
should do something to satisfy those urges.  Chris's response had been to
totally ignore them, as if he was too pure and innocent to know never mind
understand what they were talking about, which turned Aaron and Brandon on
even more thinking how hot it would be to introduce Chris to sex with guys
as Aaron had introduced Brandon.  When their comments had become too obvious
to ignore, Chris had simply shaken his head and had grinned as if they were
children, and when they persisted in their efforts to engage him in
conversation he had suggested they take a cold shower.
	Greg Raposo's instinct on the other hand was to avoid Aaron, knowing that
all gifted singers were moody, which was his reasoning for Aaron's behaviour
when he was feeling in a generous mood, and knowing that Aaron's tour was
not really going all that well besides, not for him.  Sure, he was drawing
in thousands of fans and making probably two hundred thousand a performance,
but that was pocket money for him and his family, and nothing compared to
what he was making the previous year.
	Greg's mother, unfortunately, saw Aaron's blue mood as an opportunity to
cheer him up and thus get on his good side, and that of his mother.  So of
course she encouraged Greg to spend even more time with Aaron, and
especially alone, which was the last thing he wanted to do given Aaron's
sexual preference and promiscuity.  There was only one thing on Aaron's mind
when he was alone with a guy.  Greg had never seen anyone as cock hungry as
he was.  Even after spending an hour with Brandon, with whom Greg had no
doubt he was having sex, and for ulterior motives as far as Brandon was
concerned, he was still eager to drop his pants when they were alone, or at
least get into Greg's pants, which being straight and very definitely macho,
was  causing him to lose more than just a little sleep at night himself.
Knowing what he did about Aaron, in his less generous moods, which were more
common than the generous ones, Greg concluded that the reason for his pissy
moods was because he was going through that struggle that all gay teen boys
go through, questioning why he was different, why he could not be like
"normal" guys, and what he had to do to change.  Of course there he was
totally wrong.  Aaron was one hundred percent gay and perfectly at peace
with that.
	Aaron's dancers had not been spared Aaron's temper tantrums either.  He had
complained that they were out of step with the music and distracting him.
He accused them of trying to upstage him, which they were not, and he
criticized Misha Hamilton in particular, who was the best of all of them and
whom the dancers saw as their leader and spokesmen.  He complained they were
performing poorly and that their poor performance was reflecting on his show
and the cause of the lower turnout.  They did occasionally mess up--they were
teenagers after all, with growing, changing bodies, and under a lot of
stress travelling and performing across the country, and especially under
the demanding and critical eye of Aaron's mother.  They did their best to
avoid him, and in private they complained that he was a spoiled superstar
with a mother who was doing nothing to control her son.
	They were right on both points, and especially the latter.  Jane Carter
wasn't doing anything.  She'd tried, but just something as simple as
approaching Aaron had set him off, and she had quickly realized the best way
to control him at the moment was to stay out of his sight.  What hurt most
of all was that she and she alone knew why Aaron was behaving the way he
was.  She knew, but there was not a thing she could do about it.  As a
mother, that was tearing her apart, and as Jane Carter, professional manger,
the effect their personal life was having on Aaron's performance and as a
consequence his popularity and success was making her all the bitchier.
Aaron came by his moods honestly.
	Of all of them, performers, stage help, chaperones, parents and agents,
only one other saw what was happening.  Misha Hamilton. The sensitive
sixteen-year-old dancer from Larkspur Colorado saw the sorts of things that
set Aaron off and the things that tended to calm him.  He especially saw the
dramatic mood swings when Aaron and Jane Carter were together and when they
were not.  He saw, but he did not understand the reason.  The
sixteen-year-old dancer did, however, have the heart and compassion to try
to do something about it.  So, after the performance that night in Myrtle
Beach while everyone else had changed and gotten out of Aaron's sight as
fast as they could, he had stuck around.
	"Sorry about that hand spin," he said, approaching Aaron once the last
performer had left the change room.  "Sometimes it just doesn't come
together."
	Aaron grunted his acceptance of the apology, which Misha took as a positive
sign. Aaron could have agreed more vocally, or could have found more to
criticise, or could have in the least cursed him.  Aaron, he'd discovered,
could have a very foul mouth, which was the direct opposite of the bubble
gum Disney image he was trying to project, or at least that his mother was.
	"You were spot on tonight, as usual."
	"I sucked," Aaron replied, tossing his sweaty T and towel into his duffle
bag angrily and slipping on a clean shirt.
	"Well, you messed up only a couple times, three actually, but hey, who's
counting?"  Aaron's eyes narrowed as they flared with anger and he looked
like he was about to leap up and strike Misha, but he saw the slight curl of
the corners of the dark-eyed dancer's lips and he could not help but smile
himself despite his mood.  "Nice to see a smile, even that small, on your
face," Misha observed sincerely.  "If you don't mind my saying so, you have
been a real bitch lately."
	"Yeah?  Maybe I have.  Maybe I have every reason to," Aaron snapped, his
face darkening and the smile quickly fading as he buttoned up his shirt.
"It's not your freakin' place to--."
	"Your mother?"
	Aaron's expression at first turned to a look of surprise, and then quickly
turned to anger once again.  He opened his mouth to give the insolent--.
	"It is difficult, especially when one is so angry with one he loves so
much," Misha continued hurriedly before Aaron could stop him.  Misha knew
how to read people.  It was part of his training, both ballet training and
martial arts training, and it was part of his personality.  He'd sensed that
the trouble lay in the relationship between mother and son, and Aaron's
response confirmed that. "Parents sometimes have no idea the hurt they cause
those they love the most."
	"Tell me about it," Aaron said bitterly, his anger having been cut off.
	"You tell me," Misha responded as he sat down on the change bench beside
Aaron.
	Aaron looked at the teenage dancer, again in surprise, and then with a look
of mockery as if Misha had no idea of the depth of his agony, and then
finally once again with growing anger as his defence and temper began to
build.  How dare he, a mere dancer in his tour, a minor supporting player,
make such comments?
	"It is good to talk about it, to voice what is in your heart, and I am a
very good listener."
	Aaron's anger at Misha, the nearest and only available target of his anger
in the absence of the one he was really angry with, spiked, but instead of
striking out, Aaron saw the look of understanding and the plea to let him
help in Misha's deep brown eyes, and instead his anger dissipated as fast as
a summer's rain in the hot afternoon sun.
	"How could she?  How could he?  How could both of them?" he sputtered as
his face began to contort.  "I had such hopes.  I know we all did even if I
can't talk to any of them, Nick, Angel."  His upper lip quivered. "When she
said she was going for a ride in Dad's boat and that they were going out for
dinner at Burine's afterward, I really thought they were going to reconcile.
  I knew the moving vans had gone down, that she was moving out, but when
she said that, I really, really thought they were going to patch things up
you know?"  Tears began rolling down his cheeks.  Misha drew close, putting
a muscular arm about him.
	"All because of some dumb pictures, and a couple gold records!"  His sorrow
turned to anger as quickly as a sunny summer can turn into a summer storm.
"I could have made duplicates of the fucking pictures!  Hundreds of copies!
I've millions in the fucking bank!  And who gives a shit about the records!
That is the past.  We all know I've made gold!  Mom and her fucking
possessiveness!  And, and his fucking temper!  He actually threw a fucking
coffee pot at her!"  He looked at Misha pleadingly, as if hoping he could
explain why.  "And then he started throwing stuff out the truck, smashing
things, breaking them, my fucking things!  He really scared her.  He really
did."  He voice was quivering and he tried his best to regain control, but
having begun, he could not stop what had to happen.  He trembled as his body
was racked with sobs.
	"She ran," he choked as he fought back the tears.  "What else could she do?
  What else could he have expected?  And what fucking good did it do?  He
smashed in the fucking door to the guest house, then the fucking door to the
bathroom where she'd locked herself.  Him and his fucking, stupid temper!
And then she fell and hit her head.  Of course she said he'd pushed her to
the cops.  She was scared.  Scared for her life.  She knew his temper.  What
else could she say?  And now he's in jail.  In fucking jail!  And it's all
her fault, the fucking bitch.  All her fucking fault, over a couple fucking
pictures and records!"  His face contorted in agony.  "And here I am fucking
performing as if nothing's going on, as if everything is fucking all right!"
	It all out in the open, Aaron collapsed in Misha's strong arms, his head on
Misha's chest, his tears soaking his sweat-stained, black muscle shirt.  He
choked back his tears.
	"No, don't fight it," Misha said softly, "let it happen."
	He did.  He lay there trembling, feeling ashamed, feeling such a weakling,
his tears flowing freely, a broken dam of false strength.  Misha waited
patiently, saying nothing, just holding him tightly.  When the tears finally
stopped and Aaron began to relax, Misha wiped away the tears with a
forefinger, and then leaning forward, gently kissed them away.  Aaron's
cheeks were salty and burning hot and Misha brushed them with feather-light
kisses, first one and then the other, softly and gently, and then after a
moment's pause, his lips touched Aaron's.  Aaron made no attempt to draw
back, and offered no complaint, and so Misha kissed his lips again, and then
again.  The fourth time was with more force as he began to unbutton Aaron's
shirt.
	"They're going to be coming to look for us," Aaron warned regretfully.
Placing a finger across his lips, Misha got to his feet and told him he'd be
right back.  He was gone less than five minutes, and too drained,
physically, emotionally and mentally, Aaron made no attempt to pack.
Returning, Misha locked the door to the change room behind him.  "What--?"
	Misha placed his finger across Aaron's lips this time as he sat beside him.
"The others are going on ahead of us," he said softly as he resumed
unbuttoning Aaron's shirt.  "Your PR agent said he'd see we got back to the
hotel."
	"Good ol'Mike!"
	"No talking," Misha advised.  Planting his lips firmly against Aaron's so
he had no choice, the young dancer ran his hands over Aaron's smooth chest.
It was a long kiss, followed by a second and a third.
	"I'm all right now," Aaron said softly as Misha paused.  "You don't have to
do this."
	"I know.  I want to."
	That was the truth.  Misha had been watching Aaron throughout the tour.
He'd seen the look in his eyes when he'd talked to Brandon, the way he was
always checking out Greg and Chris and some of the others, including himself
quite often.  Aaron was gay.  Of that he had no doubt.  He should know.  So
was he.  In fact he was the stereotypical boy ballet dancer with that
effeminate face, the double rings in his ears, one along the top rim and the
other in the lobe, and those graceful, feminine moves.  He'd been studying
ballet for seven years, since he was nine, and he'd heard all the fag jokes
and all the innuendos, seen the curious looks and the knowing glances, and
received the direct out and out insults. That was one reason for his
training in the martial arts.  His father knew, and he wanted his boy to be
able to defend himself against the bullies he would meet, as a boy, a
teenager, and in the future as a gay man.  So Misha knew Aaron was gay, and
that Aaron was attracted to him, which was fine as he felt the same way
about the hot, blond singer.
	And so he slipped off Aaron's shirt and sliding off the bench and kneeling
before him, he kissed his chest and toyed with his nipples with his tongue,
causing them to quickly become firm.  Aaron reached down and pulled Misha's
T out of his trousers.  Slipping his hands under it, he massaged Misha's
back, still hot and sweaty from performing and from the closed, stuffy
change room.  Aaron pulled the T up over Misha's head and the two boys, now
shirtless, embraced and kissed.
	Their hands reached down simultaneously and they unbuckled each other's
belt and pulled down each other's fly.  As Misha pushed down Aaron's jeans,
Aaron raised himself off the bench to assist the aroused young dancer and
then he pushed down Misha's.  Both boys had developed significant bulges,
Aaron's plaid boxers having a very definite tent and the outline of Misha's
swollen cock clearly visible in his tight white jockeys.
	Kissing Aaron's neck and then his clavicle, Misha's lips slowly continued
down along the middle of his smooth, sweaty chest and his ribs to the
elastic band of his boxers.  As Misha slipped his hands under the band and
slowly began to push them down, Aaron raised his hips to allow him to slip
his underwear over his buttocks.  Kneeling now beside the bench, Misha
kissed Aaron's navel and his flat stomach as far as his bush, and then
continuing to draw down his boxers, he followed them with his lips, kissing
the inside of Aaron's thighs and causing Aaron's swollen cock to begin to
rise.  He continued down, brushing his lips along Aaron's hairy calves to
his ankles and then slipping off his underwear and his socks.
	He then began his way back up, kissing the fifteen-year-old's calves and
thighs once again.  Easing Aaron down onto his back on the low bench, he
raised the young singer's hips until his legs were raised in the air and his
now stiff cock and sweaty balls were dangling before his eyes.  He knelt on
the bench behind Aaron and kissed the space below his balls.  To Aaron's
surprise, instead of continuing up to kiss and lick his dangerously exposed
balls, Misha continued in the other direction, along his crack.  His cock
lurched with arousal as he felt Misha's tongue slowly slipping along his
crack to his tail bone.  He could not believe what Misha had just done!
	Pulling apart Aaron's smooth ass cheeks, Misha slowly slipped his tongue
back down along his sweaty, oily crack again, over his asshole and down
along the cord between his legs and back to his balls.  His stiff cock
wagged with arousal and Misha's own cock, stiff and throbbing hotly in his
jockeys, tried to break loose.  Slowly licking back up and arriving at
Aaron's butthole once more, Misha pulled his ass cheeks even further apart
and zeroed in on his target.  Aaron shivered with arousal as Misha ran the
tip of his tongue along the folds of his pucker and then pressed his lips
against his quivering hole in a perverse kiss before releasing his grip on
Aaron's smooth melons and allowing his asshole to close.  He pressed his
lips against the closed pucker and sucked on it, causing Aaron to squirm on
his back, and then Misha pressed the tip of his hot, wet, muscular tongue
against his butthole and wormed it in.
	Aaron could not believe it!  The sultry, muscular dancer he'd been admiring
and fantasizing about was sitting there straddling the change bench, his
glistening, muscular arms holding him up and supporting him by the hips as
he licked, kissed and sucked on his asshole.  Aaron trembled as Misha's hot,
moist tongue forced itself into his opening and wormed its way into his
body, into his dank, dark chamber, as far as it could penetrate.  As he felt
Misha's lips press tight against his pucker, he opened and closed it, as if
returning the perverse kiss.  He felt something hot and wet oozing into his
rectum and slowly realized it was Misha's spittle.  Misha's spittle was
quickly followed by his amazingly strong tongue.
	Aaron was not the first boy Misha had ever rimmed, but Misha was the first
to rim the King of Pop.  It was not the most common nor the most popular act
between guys, and was even rarer between a girl and a guy for that matter,
which to Misha made it all the more special, and all the hotter.  He worked
his tongue in and out of the hot, throbbing pucker as an adder darts its
slender tongue.  As Aaron inhaled sharply, Misha pushed his tongue up his
asshole as far as he could, delighting in the perverse action.
	Aaron trembled and immediately tensed as he felt the twang deep in his
groin and he muttered a curse of ecstasy as he came, his stiff cock jerking
and wagging, spraying his face, his chest, and his stomach with ropes of hot
cum.  He gasped for breath and threw his head back in rapture as shot after
shot sprayed his body.  And then Misha had lowered his legs and was
straddling him and bending over him.  His eyelids lowered in lust, Misha
stuck out his tongue and lapped up a streamer of cum from Aaron's cheek,
then another that had laced his forehead.  Aaron could not believe it.  The
hot, dark dancer was lapping up his cum, licking it from his face and from
his chest.  Aaron looked down at the dark-haired, dark-eyed dancer and his
cock twitched again, causing more cum to ooze from it.
	Misha raised a leg and spun around so he was straddling Aaron once again,
this time in the opposite direction.  It was a smooth, fluid motion, as were
all of his moves, a graceful movement like those that had fascinated Aaron
the first time he'd seen Misha dance, and that had turned him on.  Misha
shuffled back so he could lick the cum from Aaron's waist, bringing his
bulging Jockeys to above Aaron's nose.  Aaron reached up and quickly pulled
down his Jockey briefs and Misha raised a leg, somehow stepping out of the
leg hole.  Clad now only in his black socks with one leg still in the leg
hole of his briefs, he bent down again to resume his lapping up of Aaron's
cum.
	Aaron reached up and gripped the muscular young singer's stiff cock.  Seven
months older than Aaron, the recently turned sixteen year old lowered his
body effortlessly and Aaron opened his mouth and slipped his lips over the
dancer's danging, low-hanging balls.  Taking both of them in his mouth, he
sucked on them gently, his cheeks puffed out like a puffer fish.  Delighting
in their saltiness and the musky, spicy fragrance from Misha's sweat, Aaron
found his mouth quickly filling with saliva.  He worked it over Misha's
tender balls, basting the orbs with his spittle, and then swallowing the
ball-flavoured saliva.
	Unable to resist the swollen sausage protruding above the tender orbs,
Aaron allowed them to slip out of his mouth and as they hung there dripping
with his spittle, he shuffled along the low bench on his back so he could
slip his lips over the knob of Misha's stiff dick.  The young dancer's cock
was almost seven inches, almost half an inch longer than his own, an
impressive size, and one that many a straight boy had eyed with envy and
with anger that a gay boy would be hung so well.  As a gay boy, all Aaron
could do was drool with admiration as he sucked on the plum-shaped knob.
Misha waited, and then as he slowly lowered his body Aaron took in his cock
until it was pressing against the back of his throat.
	The muscular dancer began to slowly pump his hips, fucking Aaron's eager
mouth.  He was randy as fuck after rimming the hot blond star, and it was
not long before he was panting with his approaching orgasm.  His tan skin
glistened with sweat, his muscular dancer's thighs and biceps flexing and
relaxing as he fucked the young singer's mouth.  Years of dance and martial
arts practices had resulted in firm, well-developed muscles and he
effortlessly raised and lowered his hips, working his stiff, aching cock in
and out of Aaron's hot, moist mouth.  The tension in his loins built and he
relished the building tension and aching of his dick head until at last he
groaned out a warning and seconds later began to shoot out his cum, shooting
it directly down Aaron's throat and filling his mouth.  Spurt after spurt
shot from the panting young dancer as he straddled the star of the tour.  He
quivered in ecstasy as his swollen cock throbbed with pleasure and the knob
burned as if on fire while his head spun.  And then when he'd finished
shooting, Aaron took over, sucking on the hot, throbbing cock and drawing
out the remainder of his thick cum.
	Aaron inhaled and exhaled deeply with pleasure, having sucked off still
another performer on his tour, and having engaged in sex with still another
new boy.  He licked his lips, relishing the taste of Misha's cock and cum.
Life was great.  With his eyes closed and his lips parted as he sucked in
the cum-scented air, the taste of Aaron's ass on his lips and the taste of
his cum in his mouth, Misha too sighed with delight.  He had much to be
delighted about that evening in the Myrtle Beach House of Blues change room.
  He had brought Aaron an hour of peace and pleasure and had distracted him
from the worries and sorrow that had been plaguing him, something nobody
else had been able to do, and he had at last achieved two of his long time
goals, that of having rimmed the hereunto unrimed asshole of the hot, young
Prince of Pop, and that of having gotten off a hot, satisfying load of jism
with him.