Adult Fanfiction – Sarah Michelle craving sex

My head was spinning. I felt confused and a little angry
that this stranger would approach me with such a claim. I
tried to poke holes in her story.

“That’s impossible. I’m an only child. I think I’d know
if I had a sibling running around somewhere,” I said
preposterously, snorting at her claim.

“That’s the same way I felt too. That is until my father
passed away last year and I found this in his old photo
album,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled
out a photo. What I saw left no doubt in my mind.

The photo was an old one of my mother, clutching two
babies on her lap. Both looked to be the same age, one a
boy the other a girl. Flipping it over on the back, I
read the caption: ALLISON AND DEAN – 2 MOS.

“We’re twins. And that’s not the only thing – you know
your half brother Jacob?” she said, my mouth still
hanging slack jawed from this new discovery.

“Yes. How did you know about him?” I asked, things just
getting stranger and stranger.

“The way he acts around you isn’t his real personality. I
think that he may be planning something involving you in
the near future, although I can’t say what,” the girl,
who I’m assuming was Allison, said. “Look, I don’t feel
real safe standing around here. Want to go get some
coffee and talk about it?”

I nodded and we both climbed into my car, peeling out of
the now deserted parking lot. The concert traffic was
pretty thick, bumper to bumper, but soon eased as we
passed the freeway.

“How did you find me? And I mean, of all the nights and
places to look,” I asked, my hands fidgeting nervously on
the steering wheel.

“Well, when I found that photo I did a little bit more
investigating into my fathers things. Turns out of course
that he wasn’t my real father, only my adopted father. I
found the adoption certificate to prove this in his safe
deposit box. Apparently when we were both three months
old, your mother, I mean OUR mother put me up for
adoption. I don’t know why or what for, but regardless I
was put up for adoption and taken a few months later. I
spent my entire life growing up in Chicago, living with
my adopted father and his wife. She died a few years back
but never mentioned the adoption to me,” Allison said.

“Ok, but that still doesn’t answer my question. How did
you find ME?” I again asked, strange parallels in our
lives starting to come together – growing up not knowing
our fathers, our mothers (or in her case her adopted
mother) dieing when she was younger. It was eerie.

“I’m getting to that. I went to the adoption agency and
asked for my records on my biological parents. Things are
different these days, agencies seem very open to helping
adults find their real parents. It’s not like in the
movies where everything is some sort of epic,” Allison
said. “So I got our mothers name and looked her up last
year, only to find she had passed away. Eventually I got
your name from the obituary and when I went to visit you
in New York the neighbors told me how you ended up here.
It didn’t take long to track down your company and then
your personal assistant, a nice guy named Damon I think,
told me you were at the show tonight,” she finished
breathlessly.

“Well, that’s quite some homework you’ve done,” I said.
“But now that you’ve found me, and don’t get me wrong, I
am happy to see you. The bigger question on my mind
though is what do you want?”

“No, I understand. I’d be a little freaked out if someone
tracked me down across the country,” Allison said. “Tell
ya what, let’s pull into this coffee shop and I’ll
explain.”

I made a sharp cut across lanes and pulled into the
diner’s parking lot, a rusty old place that looked like
it hadn’t aged well since the 50s, when it probably
opened. We walked silently from the car and stepped
inside. The place was mostly deserted, except for a small
gaggle of stoned teenagers off in the corner, laughing at
God knows what. The inside of the coffee shop was just
like you’d imagine it to be – pale lights hanging over
the table, grizzled truckers sitting at the bar with a
plate full of steaming fatty food and a cigarette in
their hand, and the waitresses wearing faded pink
uniforms that covered their bodies in the non-flexible
material of starched linen. In a word, it was like
walking into any movie you could ever imagine.

“Seat you two?” the hostess said, an older woman with
frazzled gray hair, the bags under her eyes hanging like
sad little pouches from beneath her blood shot eyes.

I nodded at the woman and she led us to a back far table.
A waitress appeared shortly thereafter, taking our order.
Neither of us were hungry, but both Allison and I ordered
coffee – black.

“I guess we are paternal twins then,” I said, stirring my
coffee when the waitress returned. “Because other than
the hair and maybe a few facial features, you and I look
nothing alike,”

“That’s what I figured too. That’s why I was so hesitant
to speak to you, thinking that it really wasn’t you
standing there since we DIDN’T look that much alike. But
I took a risk and well, here we are,” Allison said.

I sipped my coffee. It was bitter and lukewarm, but I
wasn’t going to send it back. The waitress looked too
lonely to bear the burden of my picky tastes.

“Any ways, before I found you here I went and saw your
younger brother Jacob in New York City,” Allison said.
“Not a nice guy at all, especially after finding out we
were related. He seemed to snap at me over everything and
didn’t want to answer any of my questions. Has he always
been like that?” she asked.

“No, actually. That’s really surprising. He seems like a
good kid. A little selfish and spoiled, but still pretty
good at heart,” I replied, a little taken aback at her
description of Jacob. I had seen him up in New York only
a few months ago when I went to talk to Jennifer Aniston.
He didn’t seem to have a problem then. Maybe it was just
the stress of college and all that had happened in the
city. Allison went on.

“The reason I even bother to bring him up is because of
this thing that I saw on his coffee table when I was at
his house,” she said, reaching into her purse. “At first
I thought that it would be helpful to me because it
looked like the name of your talent agency out here. I
asked him about it but he snatched the paper away before
I could get a closer look and told me that it was
‘personal business’,” she said. I nodded, obliging her to
continue.

“Before he took it away though, I took a picture of the
paper when he was out of the room with my Polaroid, you
know to help me out even if he wouldn’t,” she said,
finally pulling out something from her purse. “See, I’m
an amateur photographer, I love taking pictures. And I
brought my camera along to get some good pictures of my
new family,” she smiled, sliding the photo across the
table. I took it in my hand but didn’t look until she
finished speaking again.

“The picture came out pretty good, considering the
lighting and all. But when I got out here to California
to try and look the place up, hoping to find you, the
telephone operator said that no such business existed. I
gave her the address though and then she connected me to
Damon who got me to you,” Allison said finally, sipping
her coffee. She leaned over the table a bit and pulled
the photo down to the table to point at something on it.

“The weird thing is, the name of the company is different
but the ADDRESS is the same as where you are now. Your
company is Shooting Stars Talent Agency. That piece of
paper said StarPower Representation Firm, Inc. Does your
company have two names?” she asked, her hands clenched
together tightly. The air of the coffee shop was quite
cold.

Studying the picture myself, Allison had been right.
Though it was a little blurry, the paper (which looked
like a fax cover sheet) did say what she had noted. And
she had been right about the address too. Why would Jacob
make up a sheet with the same address as my company? Was
he trying to send someone my way?

“Hmm…you’re right. But this doesn’t make any sense.
When I took over the place from my…I mean OUR father,
it had been in business under Shooting Stars for the past
50 years. I’ll have to give Jacob a call tomorrow and see
what is going on,” I said, puzzled as I held the photo in
my hand.

“No, no, no! You can’t call him!” Allison blurted out,
almost knocking her coffee cup over.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because if you do then he will know I told you. Look, I
know you have a good relationship with all the family you
know about, but I’m having to dig myself out of a hole
right now and pissing off relatives, half or not, is not
what I want to do,” Allison said, crossing her arms
across her chest.

“Why would he be angry? It’s an honest question, seen by
someone who also had some honest curiosity,” I said.

“I don’t know. But the way he was acting, all nervous and
jittery and hesitant to even talk to me, makes me feel
like there is something else going on and he doesn’t want
anyone to know about it. Just do me a favor okay? If you
do mention it to him, say you heard it from someone else
in New York. I don’t know, I’m sure you have contacts out
there, make something up. Can you do that for me Dean?”
Allison asked. Her eyes were pleading and I couldn’t say
no.

“Fine, whatever. I’m still not convinced that you spoke
to the same person as the half-brother I’ve known for his
whole life, but we can figure that out later. In the
meantime, it’s getting late. I hate to cut our reunion
short but I have to be in the office tomorrow morning. We
need to get together for lunch sometime,” I said, pulling
a few bucks from my wallet to pay the check.

“No, I understand. I’m exhausted from the trip anyways.
Besides, now that we know each other it’s not like the
other will just disappear,” she said with a grin.

“That’s true, although you suddenly DID appear tonight
out of the blue. But I guess there isn’t any easy way to
start a relationship like that is there?” I said.

“Nope, not that I know of. Well, I’m going to head back
to my hotel now. I have your number so I’ll call you
sometime soon,” she said, getting up to leave.

“Hey, at least let me drive you back. LA’s streets aren’t
safe at night,” I said, trying to be the chivalrous
gentleman.

“I’m a big girl, I did grow up in Chicago you know,” she
said. “Besides, I’m only a block away and I’m sure I’ll
make it there fine,”

I walked her outside to the street. The din of traffic
had ebbed substantially and the streets were deserted
except for a stray cat I saw rifling through some
garbage.

“It was nice to finally meet you Dean,” Allison said with
a warm hearted smile. “Take care,”

She walked off down the block and I watched her go until
she turned a corner. Getting back into my car, I headed
home. It was impossible to sleep, my mind racing over not
only having a new person in my family but also trying to
figure out what the hell Jacob was up to out there in New
York.

The next morning was uneventful. Damon seemed ready to
bubble over with excitement at having spoken with my
“long lost sister”. But I cut him off at the pass:

“She found me Damon. Last night, after the concert. But
thank you for your concern,” I said, heading into my
office. I was surprised to see that my voice mail, the
number that I left for all clients to reach me at
directly in case of an emergency, was blinking with 7
unplayed messages.

Puzzled, I picked up the phone and hit play.

“Hi Dean this is Sarah Michelle Gellar. Freddie and I
have a problem that I think you need to take care of.
Give me a call when you get this message, you’ve got my
number. Bye”

I hit NEXT on the phone.

“Dean, this is Sarah again. Just waiting on your call,
this problem really needs to be taken care of. Call me as
soon as you can,”

I pressed NEXT again.

“God damn it Dean, where the hell are you? Why am I
paying you so much money to not be there when I need you?
I’ve got a serious fucking problem and you aren’t around
to help. You better call me. This is Sarah”

Sighing to myself, I knew what the next message would be.
I pressed it anyways.

“Sorry about that Dean, I lost my cool. Just call me
okay? This is Sarah again,”

I didn’t even need to bother playing the next messages, I
simply held down the delete button and picked up the
phone, dialing her number from my rolodex. It didn’t even
ring twice.

“What?” a female voice snapped on the other line.

“Nice to speak to you too Sarah. So what is this big
emergency?” I said calmly, almost a little too sappily.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened – Sarah was
a nice enough girl, easy to get along with when it came
down to negotiating, but when something bad happened to
her it was like the sky was falling.

“Dean thank God it’s you! Freddie and I are in BIG
trouble. Can you come out to the house and talk to us?”
Sarah said. Her voice sounded unusually panicked even for
her.

“Is it that big of a problem that it can’t be taken care
of over the phone?” I asked, my mind distracted by other
things.

“Let me let you make the call – is a gay male prostitute
tied up in our back bedroom suitable for handling over
the phone?” Sarah spat back. I sat up at attention.

“What is a gay male prostitute doing in your house at
all?” I asked, more than just a little surprise.

“That’s what you need to come over here and figure out
then isn’t it?” Sarah said. “Shall I expect you in an
hour?”

“Make it two for traffic. But I’m on my way,” I said,
hanging up the phone and hustling out of the office to my
car.

Getting in and peeling out of the parking lot, I thought
to myself – why oh why do I get stuck with stars who get
into these kinds of messes?

I headed out along the coast to Sarah’s house. It was
beachfront property, located on a rocky cliff in Malibu
that gave an absolutely stunning view of the ocean from
almost any point in the house. Buffy certainly didn’t
like to live cheaply.

When I arrived, I was surprised to find Sarah meet me at
the door. Her golden blond hair looked frazzled and mangy
and her eyes were a little puffy, probably from lack of
sleep over this incident. I knew right away, after
spotting a few droplets of blood on the floor, that this
was a far more serious situation than I thought. The
crimson red spots seemed to mock me almost as I went, the
sharp contrast of color against the off white plush
carpeting very striking.

“Hi Dean,” Sarah said softly. “Freddie and the guy are
down here,”

I followed her down a flight of mahogany wooden stairs to
a basement like area, located at the base of the house.
It was slanted and rather narrow, the ceiling fading away
to a point due to it’s sharp cut into the hillside. It
was dark and quiet, the pale light of a floor lamp
casting the only light in the room, leaving corners of
darkness to dance mysteriously at us, their contents
unbeknownst to me without further inspection.

At the very back of the below ground level was a door and
Sarah knocked softly before opening it and entering
slowly.

The room was a glow with burning scented candles and the
aroma of charred wax and manufactured fragrance was over
powering. The room contained all sorts of bizarre things
that I didn’t even think about asking about – leather
whips and bondage gear mounted on the wall, a set of
handcuffs dangling from a coat hook, the shiny metal
catching me in the eye for a second as my eyes adjusted
to the room.

Freddie Prinze Jr. sat on the solitary piece of furniture
in the room, a bed that had been stripped of sheets but
was a little dirty from some drying maroon stains on the
mattress cover. Freddie sat with his head in his hands,
hunched over the bed in thought. The hooker that Sarah
had mentioned sat huddled in a far corner of the room,
his handcuffed hands holding his knees tightly against
his chest.

He was a decent looking guy, a little younger than me,
with reddish brown curly hair and a fair amount of the
same color chest hair on his upper body. The man was
naked except for a very small loin cloth that barely
covered his manhood and I could see that his mouth looked
swollen a red, his lip split a little in the corner from
what appeared to be a vicious punch to the mouth. His
back, which I noticed when he exhaled and inhaled deeply,
was slashed red with what I assumed were whip marks. In
situations like this, it was my experience not to ask.

A closely guarded secret in Hollywood, very few people
knew that Freddie Prinze Jr. was in fact a homosexual.
Because of his public image as a heartthrob for millions
of girls and women, the truth about this fact was kept as
quiet as possible. By Hollywood standards, a gay man
publicly dating (or in this case engaged to be married)
to a straight woman was nothing new, and I could name a
handful of gay men off the top of my head who were
leading stars and box office draws no matter what they
released.

I had discussed the current situation between Sarah and
Freddie with the two of them before. They had met on the
set of “I Know What You Did Last Summer” and gotten to be
good friends. It was only a few years later she confided
in me, that he revealed to her that he was gay. After
both of their film careers began to sag some, Sarah had
approached me with the idea of getting married to Freddie
not only to take off the pressure of any noisy Hollywood
reporter but to get some good PR for the two of them. I
told her that it was a good idea and a few weeks later
they announced their engagement.

It was a little bizarre for someone outside of Hollywood
to think about two people living together under the same
roof as man and wife but never actually consummating the
marriage, but since I had gotten into the Hollywood world
hardly anything surprised me anymore. The current
predicament however, did not fall into that category.

“Ok Freddie, tell me what happened so I can decide what
we need to do,” I said. My eyes watched the hooker in the
corner, who appeared to be either in shock or at the very
least sleeping from exhaustion.

“Well, I had him come over last night and we, well, you
know. I had gotten his number from a friend of mine who
said that he was willing to do just about anything you
asked. I had been playing around with bondage and S&M and
hadn’t really known what I was doing. The next thing I
knew, I had teased and hit him a little too hard and he
freaked out, running upstairs and to the front door. If
Sarah hadn’t been there to hit him in the head with a
book I think he might have gotten away and who knows what
would have happened then,” Freddie said, his voice
wavering. He too seemed to be in shock, his words
floating out like they came from someone else’s mouth.

“Freddie, you know that I don’t care what you do with
your own sex life. That’s your business. But as your
friend as well as your agent, you can’t go around beating
up hookers,” I said sternly.

“I wasn’t beating him!” Freddie cried, standing up from
the bed now. “Things just got going really fast and I
think that we just got really carried away,”

“And Sarah, you had nothing to do with this?” I asked,
turning my attention to her. She was dressed in a loose
sweater and jeans but was biting her nails nervously, her
blond hair hanging in her face haphazardly. She was lost
in her own thoughts until I called her name.

“No, I didn’t know what they were doing down here. I was
just upstairs flipping channels and I heard the guy,
whose name is Randy by the way, come screaming up the
stairs. When I saw the blood on his mouth, I just freaked
out and hit him in the head. I didn’t mean for him to
fall down, but once he did Freddie came up and I helped
him carry Randy downstairs and handcuff him. Jesus Dean,
am I going to go to jail?” Sarah said, her voice on the
verge of anguished tears.

“Not if I can help it Sarah. You two fucked up pretty bad
but I think we can fix the situation. Is he unconscious?”
I asked the two of them.

“He woke up about 10 minutes ago, right before you got
here. But he hasn’t said a word since we moved him down
here,” Freddie said. “What do you want us to do? We can’t
just leave him down here, unconscious or not,”

I thought for a moment, my mind racing trying to find the
best way to resolve this dilemma. “First off, Sarah I
want you to go get some washcloths and some clothes to
clean him up with. And Freddie, while I take a look at
him I want you to find the key to the handcuffs,” I said,
taking charge.

Sarah bounded upstairs while Freddie scoured the room for
the key. I approached “Randy” (I didn’t think that was
his real name) and stooped down to take a look at him.

His lip was split open pretty good and the left side of
his face was starting to swell with a blackish tint just
above his high cheek bones. A trickle of blood had dried
and cracked out of the corner of his mouth but it didn’t
look like he lost any teeth or anything more severe than
just a sharp blow to the face. I stooped down onto my
haunches to take a better look and try to rouse him.

“Randy? Randy can you hear me?” I said, putting my arm on
his own and shaking him gently. He lifted his head slowly
and looked at me. I’ll never forget that look – it was
one of fear and confusion and most of all hurt. The poor
guy just wanted to go home and if what I had in mind
worked, he would soon be on his way.

“Yeah, I can hear you. What do you want?” he whispered.

“I’m a friend of Freddie’s and Sarah’s. I’m here to help,
to make things better so that we all can forget this
night and move along with our lives,” I said. I didn’t
want to tell him I was their agent or use my real name
just in case he ever wanted to press charges. I may be
there for my clients through thick and thin, but I’m not
stupid. “Sarah went to go get some washcloths, she will
be back in a second. Freddie, did you find that key?”

“Yeah, here it is,” Freddie said, bringing it to me.

“Ok Randy, I’m going to unlock these cuffs and pull them
off. Just sit still and don’t try to run and I’ll have
you home before the sun goes down, alright?” I said,
trying to sound reassuring. He nodded slowly.

With a metallic click, I unlocked the cuffs and pulled
them from his sweaty wrists, where they had left a little
bit of a reddish rub from being too tight on his hands.
Taking him by the hand, I helped Randy stand up slowly.
He was a little shaky on his feet but after a moment or
two he seemed to have his balance.

He was nearly as tall as I and just about as built
physically as any man I had seen. I was surprised that
they had managed to drag him all the way downstairs but I
guess when the adrenaline had been pumping something like
that was minor.

Sarah returned downstairs, an arm load full of clothes
and a bucket with about four damp clothes. I took them
from her and set them on the ground between Randy and I.
Reaching down, I pulled out a wash cloth.

“Here, wipe the blood off your face and get yourself
cleaned up a little,” I said to him. He took the cloth
from me but hesitated for a moment.

“Wait…this blood is evidence. I don’t want to get rid
of it if I press charges,” Randy said, holding the cloth
in his hand as it dripped water droplets slowly to the
floor.

I smiled a tight lipped “I mean business” smile at him.
“Randy, clean yourself off and trust me, there will be no
need to press charges. I’m going to make everything
alright for all of us without getting the police
involved,” He seemed to hesitate for another moment but
then obliged my request, running the wash cloth over his
mouth and cheek gently, clearing away the blood and sweat
from his upper body.

When he was finished I said “There. Doesn’t that feel
better? Now, here is some of Freddie’s clothes. Go ahead
and put them on if they fit they are yours to keep. We
will turn our heads while you change,”

Surprisingly though, Randy just yanked off his loin cloth
and stood there naked before us, modesty not one of his
big fears as he took the clothes from the pile one by one
and got dressed. Cleaned up, he looked like any regular
guy, minus of course the bruise on his cheek.

“Now that you are dressed, let’s sit down and talk a
deal,” I said, motioning towards the bed. I sat down on
the edge of it and he did the same, facing me as I spoke.
Sarah and Freddie lingered away from us, trying to stay
as neutral as they could. I reached into my pocket and
pulled out my wallet, removing a gold credit card from
it’s sleeve.

“Do you know what this is? It’s a credit card. More
importantly, it’s a credit card with a $2 million limit
on it. I’ve never used it as it is a company card but
take it, it’s yours. Feel free to max it out if you want,
buy whatever you want with it,” I said, handing it to
him. It occurred to me that he would now know the name of
my company but I couldn’t really think of a way to avoid
showing it.

Randy sat silent as I continued. “Freddie, what kind of
car do you drive?” I asked.

“Dodge Viper, 2001 model,” he said.

“Give me your keys,” I replied. Freddie reached into his
pocket and pulled out his keys, tossing them to me from
across the room.

“This car is yours now too. In exchange for all this,
last night never happened. You never came here and never
saw anything. If anyone asks, you got in a fight with
someone at a bar. If you keep up your end of the bargain,
that credit card will stay active for as long as it takes
for you to max it out and the car will be transferred to
your name. If you don’t however, I will call the cops on
you and have you arrested for solicitation, not to
mention have the car and it’s plates reported stolen,” I
said.

“So you’re paying me off in exchange for keeping quiet?”
Randy said finally. I couldn’t tell if he was having a
moral dilemma or just getting his facts straight. Judging
by the way he gripped the card and keys, it had to have
been the latter.

“Pay off is such a harsh phrase,” I said. “Let’s just
call it a gift from two of your Hollywood friends. So, do
we have a deal?”

Randy seemed to consider this for a second, staring down
at his lap while he thought. “Yeah, I suppose so. I know
that Freddie didn’t mean for this to happen, nor did
Sarah, so if it’s just an accident than no harm no foul I
suppose,” he said.