For Firewhiskey Fics, no betas, autocorrect, or spell-checking are allowed!
Pairing(s)/Characters: Fred n George n Draco n Hermione n Harry n Ron n Blaise n Pansy n …
Challenge: Las Vegas!
Summary: Blaise's stag weekend ends up letting all of his friends get a little lovin'.
Rating/Warnings: G! Nah, Whom am I kidding – NC-17 all the way!
Word count: ~4200
A Winner: Won the "FUNNIEST ENTRY" award at the LJ August 2012 FirewhiskeyFic Fest.
Author's Notes: This was fun! I wish I could do this every night – quantity-wise that is! I don't know if it gets too boring at the end or what. I'm more sobar as I write this summary than I was when I started the fic, but I started out buzzed and it only gradually disappated. Okay, I'kll be quiet now.
I REPEAT: For Firewhiskey Fics, no betas, autocorrect, or spell-checking are allowed!
Blaise tappled his foot, eyeballing his expensive magical pocketwatch and wonder ing just where in the fuck were his so called "friends". This was HIS stag weekend, gods damn it, and he wanted to get moving. If he was going to be giving up batchelorhood soon, he wanted this weekend to be a time to regmember. Or maybe not remember, if there was enough alcohol ./
The Vegas Portkey sat beside him, an empty, rhinestone-encrusted cigarette packet. He drummed his long ark fingers on his knee, waiting.
KAZAPPO
Harry Apparated into the room, followed immediately by another lowud KAZINGO, which was Ronb Weasley, his faithful dise dick.
"FUCK!" screamed Ron. Blood was flowing from his scalp. "I've gone and Splinched myself AGAIN! "
Sure enough, the idiot had left behind a good chunk of hair. Actually, all of it. His head was bleeding though it tirns out he still had his SCALP. Yay! Cuz, have you ever seen a picture of someone who's been cscapleD?" Scalped? It isn't pretty. Eek.
ANYWAY! Ron was vcown now completely bald. Harry, once he'd picked himself up off the floor from gut-laughing, sprayed Ron with water from his wantd to waash off the blood. Once that was done, he said he'd dry him too, and proceeded to blow Ron off his feet with a popwerful "Monsoon Charm" set on high. Ron staggered to his feet, Hecsed Harry with a Hairy Hex, which caused Harry's entire body to start spoiurtiung hair at a rapid pace, and stomped off to the loo.
"Are you two finished?" drawled Blaise, standing up. "Because I'd really like my house to stay in once pice, thamk you very much."
"Ah, what do you care, Blaise?" asked Hermion. I mean, asked Harry. "You know that Pansy's just going to redo the entre intereior ANYWAY, so what the fuck do you care if the place gets a bit messed up?" He shook his head as he dragged his Pocket Spell Dictionary out of his jeans pocket. He flipped through t for a way yo to reverse the Hairy Hecx.
Blaise wondered, bot not for the eighty-ninth time, why he had become even remotyely friendly with Potter and his Pals.
BAZINGA
Draco arrived, in a hail of confetti and rtibbons. He was wearing a green button down shirt, a black leather vest/waistcoat, and black leather trousesers. And boots of course. His blond hair was stylishly shaggy and roguish. IF he'd had an eye patch, people might have thought he wsa the Dread Pirate Roberts.
But he didn't, so they didn't.
"What the hell is going on, Potter?" He drawled. "Your looking like Hargid mor e and more each da."
Harry scowled, found the Shaving Spell he'd wanted, and handed toe book to Draco. "Here, Malfoy. Shut up and caset this on me would you? My wand is all takngled up in my back hair, or I'd do it myself." His voice was strangely muffled doo to the Tom Selleck-like moustache that had grown on his face.
Draco took the book with a huge sigh, as though it greatly inconvienienced him to help a semi-rriend out. He read the spell, pulled out his wantd, and cast it.
KERSLURP!
All of the excess hair Vainshed from Harri's body. He felt his face and his shouldn'ers and said, "Ah, that's better. Thanks, Malfoy. I owe you one." He excuised himself to head to the upstairs loo, because Ron was, for some reason, still in the toilet downstairs. What the fuck was he doing in yhere, anyway?
Blaise asked Draco, who was smirtking, "Olay, what did you do to Potter?" Draco schrugged.
"I uh, left some of his short and curlies in a state of … disarray." He said, grimnning. "Can't wait to hear the scream of frustration when he …"
MALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL FOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! Came the scream that echoed down the stairs.
"…can't find the tree for all the forest, if you know what I mean," Draco finished. Blaise high-fived him.
PLOOTIE! BA-DANG! KA-ZOT! PING! AHOOOOGAH!
Fred, George, Neville, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Theo Nott appeared all in one swell foop.
"Thank fuck you are all here, finally. The Ooirtkey is set to go in five minutes," blasé fumed. He said, "Someone go get Weasley outta the crapper. He can finish his business once we get to the Swueet in Vegas."
Fed and George volunteer ed and went to stand on either side of the loo door.
"Roonil Wazlib! Get your freckled, well-tomed arse OUT here right this minute!" shrieked Fred in a high falsetto. George tossed his brother the end of a long piece of string, and they held it stretched tight across the door way just as the door flew open and Ron came barrelling out, still bald as an egg, shoulting "I'm coming, Lavender, I'm …"
WHAM
He plowed into th e wall across from the loo as his huge, Ronald McDonald clown feet caught on the string that F and G were holding as a trip wire. He was knocked unconscious. From the blow.
Gut-laughing, Fred and George scraped him up off the floor and went to the living room, where all the men were gathered. They held Ron between them, and George whipped out a green Sharpie marker and drew a completx, obscene dot to dot design on Ron's baled dome of a head.
"The freckles, they make the shape of a butt with a weenie in it! Did you know?" he said to Fred, who was practically pissing himself laughn.
"No, but that's bloody brilliant!
"Awright! Everyone, look, this is my last chance at screwing and American chick before I marry the shrew – er, te love of my life, Pansy. So, grab hold of me, I'll hold the Portkey, and let's DO this thing!" Blaise flared his nostrils at them.
They all grabbed hold of each other by some part of the body – Fred grabbed Draco's crotch while George stuck his tongue in Theo's ear – and the Portkey FLASHED them to …
~~~MEANWHILE~~~
"Granger! Hurry the fuck up, the Portkey's ralmost ready to go!" Pansy banged on the door of their shared loo in their shared flat in Wizarindding London. They actually were renting the flat over the store next to Fred and George's, which was over their shop. Many a night had been spent in a sleepless stupor as they had to listen to the bangs, screams, and miscellaneous explosions issuing from Fred and Georg'es living quarters.
And that was just when they were boinking some broads. When the boys starting inventing new products, things REALLY got noisy.
Hermione threw the door open. She stood there, naked from the waist up, holding her gold-and-red sleeveless top in her hand. "Paynsy, for the love of Mithras! I got in here just 6 minutes ago. You had 2.7 HOURS in here! Let me just get a bra, I forgot –"
"No time!" Pansy dragged her out of the loo. Hermione just had time to grab her wand from the counter. "You look hot, and we are late, c'mon, I'lll help you tie the tie, hold up your hair. You l;ook gorgeous, and your tits are so round and perky you don 't neec a bra!" She tweaked one of Hermione's definitely perkey nipples. "You'll be pulling in the men like flies on shit!"
Hermione scowled at her roommate, who didn't see her because she was already heading away down the hall. "What a lovely analoyhugy, Pansy! Thanks. Why are you blond, by the way?"
"Any time! And I'm blond because I wwant to see if they really have more fun. Really, please lets go. You are such a ood friend to come to Begas with me – no one else wanted to go with me."
I wonder why, mused Hermione to herself, as she took in the site of Pansy's 13 various luggage pieces. Hermione held up her wand and her Bag of Holding.
"This is all you need, Pans. Really. I made you a Bag of your wonw, own, annd all thois crap would fit into it./ Where is it?!" Pansy schrgged.
"I dunno, it's in one of these suitcases somewhere. I didn't want to get it dirty." Hermione smaked her forehead while pansy grappbed a used condom from the coffee table.
"Here, grab hold!" she said.
"What?! I do n't wamt to bg even come NEAR one of Blaise's used–"
"No, silly, it's the Portkey! It's not really a used condom. Not in that way, anyway. It's just got some cottage cheese in it for texture." Hermione gingerly took hold of the squishy end of the rubber (the only one available since Pandy held the top end) and vomited a little into her mouth.
"Texture? Pansy, are you serious?"
"Yes! It's very life-like, don't you think?" The dark-haired, sloe-eyed dimbo grinned at her.
"Have you ever been with any other man besides Blaise?" Hermione asked with growing apprehension.
"Oh no, Blasie is the the only man I've ever fucked. He's fantastic., and I don't need anyone else to satusfiy me. Excpt I do want to try out an American. They are supposed to be hot. THEN, Blaise will be one and only for me for ever and ever the ned."
Hermione shook her head. No one should have chunky sperm. If Blai'ses was chunky as cottage cheese, he really needed to see a man about a disease.
"Look. P{ansy. I know I said I'd go, but my tempueratuire is high – I have a FEVER of 103. That's farenheigty, notr Celcuis, but it is still freaking hot. I need to go home drink some chicken soup an d get some sleep."
"Sorry, Hermione, you ARE home, and there's no time to be sick. You said you'd go, and Fever or no Fever, we are GOING!"
At that moment, the Portkey activated, and they were swept off to one of those stuppid hotels in Vegas. ( I've neve3r been, sp lets pick the Belagio, sin'ce I've heard of it and whether or not I spell it right, it doesn't matter sincd this is a drunk porn fic. The girls had no CLUE where they were going.)
~MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH~
Blaise, Draco, Theo, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry, Fred, George, and most of Ron arrived in a big heap in the back alley behiund the Belagio. Blaise had rented one of its biggest swuites for the weekend.
Ron promptly leaned over and puked all over Justin Finch-Fletchley's shooes. Justin Finch-Fletchley screemed like a little girl.
"Where's my own shoes?" Ron miuttered, whiping his moth with his sleep[ve.
"Cripes, Weasley," muttered Draco, fighting a laugh. "You are the only wizard I know who can actually Splicnh himself while PORTKEYing!" He started to laugh uproariously.
Harry patted Ron on the shoulder. "Tough break, mate, but at least you still have your feet." Ron's Ronald McDonald feet, with tufts of ginger hair on the toes, were glowing softly in the lights of Las Vegas. Freckles and all.
Harry kicked a couple of empty beer cans over to Ron and Transfigured them into flip-flops. Ron put them on, scowling. "Thanks, Harry, but couldn't yhou make some of those smoking dragon hide boots like Draco has?"
Draco's boots WERE mightly fine. They saw that Justin was checking out Draco's arse more than the boots.
"I coujld have except you ren't wearing socks," explained Harry. That didn't really mean jack shite, but Ron wasn't exactly the smartest bulb on the neon hotel scion, if you know what I mean. He a ccepted Harry's explanation like a sheep accepts the shearing chute.
They all entred the Belagio, where the casiono lights began to glow off of Ron's bald head (at least, from the spots where his hed wasn't covered with the x-rated drawing of a dick up someone's arse, that is).
Blaise put a silent Silencio on everyone but Theo and Draco, because he trusted no one else to NOT make him look like an idiot. They got the roomkeyes, one for everyone, and hustled the silently fuming crew upstairs.
Room 6969. That sounded promising.
~MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE OK-CORRAL~
Pansy and Hermione stumbled a bit. Pansy because she was wearing 8-inch heels, Hermione becaise Pansy held her around the neck in a death grip.
"Pansy, let go," Hermione gasped. Pansy shrieked with delight at the sight of the hotel/caseino before her and she let go of her roomie to clap her hands with glee. Hermione caoughed and spluttered and staggered around a bit on her much more seinsible 2 inch heels. She felt sick, feverish and woosy, and she had a VAGUE feeling she was going to regret this entire weekend.
"Hey, baby," said a passing young man with huge buck teeth, huge zits, and a huge ten-gallon hat. "You driunked already, little love?" He grabbed Hermione around the waist and pulled her close. She could spell the booze all over him and she threw up again in her mouth – and this time it kept going and splattered all aover the guy's rattlesnake skin boots.
"Bitch! The'sse cost me 6 months wages!" he yelled, shobing her aside.
"Wow, you work at a hamburger joint? Bully for you," snrked Hermione. The man swore and stoaked off, his boddies trailing behuind and laugfing.
Hermione turned to Pansy. "Where. The. Hell. ARe. We? We're LOST, aren't we!"
Pansy, blond hair shining in the pink blue and purple neon ligts, gazed aorund like a cow faced with the choise of two differnet miliking machines. Both offered relief, but which wone woulsd feel the best?
"I don't know, Herms," she admitted, finally. "All I have is a VAGUE memory of the Portkey Witch telling me which hotel we'd be taken to. I didn't really pay attention, I just wanted to get home to blow Blaise."
Hermione, upon hearing that, immediately imagined chunky sperm sliding down her throat and she threw up into the fountain. She cast a Moiuth Refreshing Charm opn her face andd grabbed Pansy. "C'mon, maybe thery have a room available." And dragged her intop the Belagio.
"Hermione, if we get luckly, we won't NMEED our own roomds! Hey, where's my luggage?"
"Back at the flat, you tool. You didn't pack it in your Bag of Holding and you didn't have it all on your person when you Portkeyed." Hermione started to laugh uproarioously.
"Ha ha. Well, then, give me your underwhere."
"What!?" Hermione stopped .
"You heard me!" hissed P{ansy, as they walked into the brightly-lit, noisy casino. "I ddn't have the chance to put on knicker,s and your skirt is longer tham mine. Wow your tits look great in that blouse by the way. Hermione, you really are a knowckout."
Hermione, hair loose and wild around her head like a lion's mane (her hair always got riled when she was sick, flustered, or upset. Since she was all three, she looked like Simba.) "So you want me to give you MY underwere?"
"Yes. Why, are you embarrased? Look at me, my arsecheeks are goj g to hang out!" Pansy gesticulated wildly. (I spelledd that right. I feel FANTASTIC) "Yo uaren't wearing Granny Panties, are you?!" Pans looked horrifled.
"Of course not!" Hermione was indignant. "But iof your ASS is hanging out, won't that get you a n American man faster, won't it?" Hermione was confused. She'd had a handfuil of romances, but apparently there were still thinks about lust and sex that she dien't understand.
"It would, but not the right kind oif man. Come on, you don't even have to let anyone know you are taking them off. Watch." With that, Pansy flicked her wrist ever so slightly and Hermione felt her arse feel … unburdoned. Her silky, lacy, red undies were now on Pansy's privates.
"There." Pansy wiggled a bit. "Hey, these are nice!"
Hermione felt nasueated again. "You keep them, Seriously. COnsinder them a five give gift for the honeymoon." She looked around. "Let's go drink. And . "
"Yes! And meet men!" shriekd Pansy. Hermione cringed as people aorund them chuckled indulgently. Pansy whipped out a bedazzled tiara that she had had stowed gods knew where and popped it onoto her head. It read, "I AM A BRIDE TO BE – SHOW ME WHAT A GOOD FUCK CAN BE."
"What do you think?" she asked Hermione.
She wanted to wear knickers, but she's also wearing that? thought Hermione. "It's you. You look great."
Pansy beamed and disappeared into the crowd.
"Hey! Pansy, wait!" Hermione tried to catch her friend but she was unable to find her. "Fuck it," she said out loud. "My head hurts, my stomach is angry at me, and I just want to be somewhere quiet." Hermione looked aorund, feeling bereft.
~MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE HOOD~
The night was going swimmingly for the boys.
Harry had met a couple of women who liked the academic, thin, weedy look. The glasses were his shoo-in for some hot menage a trois action tonight.
Fred and George had met a pair of identical twins, Jennifer and Jessica, who also happened to be redheads.
They were also conjoined twins, joined at the back of the head.
They said they wanted to fuck so bad, but they could only do it in an upright position. Oblidginly, Fred and George took them back to their suite for some quad action. Fred and George – they are real stand up guys, you know?
Justin Finch-Fletchly, well, he's gayer than the Mad Hatter. There is nothing at all wrong with that, and he soon had gfour different twinks drooling over his posh British accent and his cute little derriere. He brought all of THEM back to his part of the suite for some all-male orgy revue action.
Ron foiund love that night. He was accosted by a female security guard named Olga, who was short and big-breasted like his mother and had a mouth on her like a stevedore. She told him his obscene tattoo was inappropriate (Ron had no idea what she was talking about, as he was in the dark about what was drawn on his head). She wisksed him away to the casino's security room and proceeded to show him how her mouth could work in other dirty ways. While his cock was deep inside the throat of Olga the Oral Guard, Baldy Ron moaned, Grunted, and spewed his load of load down her gullet. Ah, yeah, that's what Vegas is supposed to be all about, he thought.
Blaise, meanwhile, had hit on a cute little blond bimbo who was wearing a tiara that was practically BEGGING him to fuck her. She told him she liked dark meat, he said he loved high-living blondes, and together they disapeared upstairs to the sweet. Suit.e. The Sweet Suite.
Room 6969 was sure getting some action that night.
That letft… let's see.. NEVILLE!
Neveille was playing blackjack, and boy was he kicking some serious ASS. He kicked it so hard, that a trio of girls started paying him serious attention. One wore red, one wore white, and one wore blue. They were identical triplets (Wow, go figure?) and were named Casey, Lacey, and Tracey. CLiT, for short.
Neveille finished his last hand, raked in the wads o' dough, and cashed out. Then, cleverly, he banished MOST of his winnings to his Gringotts vault, knowing CLiT were going to play him. Sure enough, all three girls dragged him up to his room (beats the hell out of me how they knoew where his room WAS), and he proceeded to fuck each one of them, hard and furious, one in the coochie, one sucked him off, and the third took him up her arse. All the while he was grinning to himself about how great BVegas was and safe in the knowledge that most of his earnings were secure back home. He cast about 40 gazillion disease prevention charms, however- over the entire suite, as a matter of fact –cuz you can't be too careful when it COMES down to COOZE.
THEO. Theo Nott. What happened to him?
Well, he and Draco were playing the slots, and doing a decent job at hgetting drunk while they did so. Theo actually hit the jackpot, eventuially – not THE JACKPOT, but a nice enough win to triple his expenditures. He cashed out, grabbed a nearby croupier who was just ending her shift – a cute little thing from Japan. He took her upstairs to the thankfully huge-and-soundproofed Suite 6969. She proceeded to show him what being a croupier, dealing cards all day, did for her hand and eye dexsterity. Theo was in love, and he knew this was the "real deal".
~MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE LAND OF THE ALMOST – SANE~
There was Draco, sitting on a stool in front of a faulty one-armed bandit, slightly tipsy on crappy fruity drinks with umbrellas and wishing he could just find somebody to love, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a fat-bottomed girl drifted into his line of vision. Their eyes met, and it was a like a kind of magic between them. Her body language said it all: here was somebody to love. Just like that – another one bites the dust. Draco was smitten.
Draco stood up and approached the young woman, who wasn't "fat-bottomed" so much as wonderfully, juicily curvaceous, with fantastically curly brown hair. When he got up close, he realized who it was before him.
"Granger?!" he asked, incredulously.
"Yes," she whispered, barely audible above the Pachinko machines. "Draco? What are you doing here… oh. Blaise's stag party?"
Draco nodded, caressing both her arms with his hands. He didn't want to let go of her now that he had her. He noticed how her skin burned with heat. Her nipples poked at her blouse. Wow, she was smoking gorgeous!
"You're hot," he said in a low voice.
"I know – I have a horrid fever, I'm afraid," she sighed. She leaned against him, searing his skin.
This was the Mudblood who had haunted his dreams all his life. Now she was here, with him, physically touching him, and she wasn't pulling awqay. So what if she smelled VAGUELY of vomit? He hadn't bathed in nearly 6 hours. Gods knew what he might smell like. (Note to self, thought Draco. Invite Granger to have a dual shower before commencing love-making. Um, fucking? Sex? Shagging? YES, all of the above.) He turned his attention back to her.
"Blaise took a blonde bimbo up to his room for a night of shagging. She was wearing a tiara that said something about a bride who wanted to be fucked." He shrugged.
Hermione stiffened, then leaned her head against his chest (gee, her hair smelled terrific) and giggled.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"That was Pansy," she gasped, trying to hold in her laughter. It was no use, and the two of them started to guffaw. The oblivious casino patrons around them ignored them, as expected. The greasy man next to them began to reek of ammonia as his bladder let go. He didn't want to leave the machine, so he just let it happen.
His lip curled in utter disgust, Draco asked Hermione if she'd like to go somewhere quieter, with him, and see what might happen. She looked him in the eye, unblinking, for 7.2 seconds, and then said:
"Yes. But I want us to take a shower first. You smell like booze, cigarettes and wee."
Draco grinned and swooped in for a kiss. She responded more eagerly than he'd ever thought she could, and it was fantastic. Her fingers slid into his hair and gripped him firmly, and his own hands pulled her close, kneading her buttocks. Imagine his surprise when he discovered she wans't wearing knickers! He knew just what to do with that.
Muggles be damned. These American nitwits wouldn't notice a thing. He Disapparated with Hermione up to his private room that he'd negotiated with the desk clerk when Blaise wasn't paying attention, and proceeded to shower her with lust, with love, AFTER a great deal of floral shampoo, conditioner, and mounds of lathery lilac-scented soap. He paid special attention to her perky luscious breasts and her tight, curvy ASS. He loved her ass, hot and feverish as it was. He was lost in her loveliness.
Afterwards, he even let her borrow his toothbrush. And his spearmint toothpaste. By the gallon.
FEVER LOST VAGUE ASS, BABY!