Fur and Loathing in Las Vegas

[Disclaimer] Characters belong to JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.

I\'m flying sideways over the twinkling lights of the Las Vegas strip when I feel the Lysurgidie potion kick in. The trip\'s been long and hard, mostly because of the flock of owls that\'s been randomly attacking me on my visit. The Lysergidie sometimes keeps them away. At the moment, they\'re still swarming.

You might ask why I\'d take such a sense-deadening potion and I might tell you that it\'s personal, that sometimes a man has owls in his head and that\'s the only way to escape them. But that would make a dull story and it wouldn\'t be a good way to start this. It is because of The War. Yes, The War. The final battle.

Obviously we won. Harry? Still alive. There were some big losses on our side, but not our fearless leader, nor his poofter on again/off again boyfriend, that Malfoy bloke. No, they lived. Most of us did. I lost my Ginny, though. Not to the war, of course, but to Longbottom. Bit war hero he turned out to be. He got the girl and I got the post-War Voldemort Syndrome, or as Malfoy\'s coined it, the \"Syndrome-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named,\" because so many in the Wizarding world are still afraid of saying Voldemort\'s name. Voldemort.

Voldemort. Voldemort. Vold-Vold-Voldimart-Voldie-Vold-Voldemort. Who\'s afraid of Voldi-MORT? Not I, said the fly!

None of us vets who saw him go down like the dog he was are afraid to speak his name. It\'s just those who weren\'t there; they\'re the ones who are afraid, scared for him to come back. He\'s not coming back.

Now that the owls are gone, I can see where to land.

Back to the Syndrome, we, all of us, are afflicted in different ways. Of course, Malfoy suffers. It all but turned him into a Squib; a fate that most of us thought would be worse than death for him. But that Potter brought him through it and now he writes songs and poetry. We all should\'ve known he was a poet after that first refrain of \"Weasley Is Our King.\" He\'ll probably be accessorizing us all with clever little badges next.

The key part of this Syndrome that gets to us all are the bouts of manic depression. It\'s why I can\'t keep a girl for more than a few weeks before she throws my Irish arse out. It\'s what got to Dean one sad night and ended his life. It\'s why the Potter-Malfoy union is always so up and down. It abides only because at the very least they understand why. You can practically set your watch by their fights. On again on Thursday. Off again by Sunday. Monday no one talks about it. When I left their flat they were pretending not to know one another. \"What day is it?\"

\"Wednesday, sir.\"

I snap out of my internal monologue. (Or is it soliloquy since you\'re reading it?) It\'s a shock to see a polite, petite, bleach blonde woman with poisonous red nails tap-tap-tapping at the plastic letter-board. Keyboard. Right. \"Oh, thank you. And where am I?\"

\"Stardust hotel, sir. Now, how long are you staying?\" she asks me. Tanya. Her nametag says she\'s Tanya.

I look down at the gaudy pattern of the rug beneath me, made worse by the cheap fluorescent lights. The floor started to writhe like primordial ooze, running over my feet in palpitating waves before Tanya snapped her fingers and looked at me with concern. Hearing a hard crack of flesh, like the rending of a whip, I turn my head to see the cluster of people in shiny regalia. Women and men in extraordinarily tall-heeled shiny boots, flinging shiny objects with smiling hostages led around like swine. Beautiful.

\"Bondage convention,\" Tanya informed me. \"Real freaks, but nice people Big tippers.\"

This was the time I got to the heart of why I was here. \"Earlier today I got an owl from a friend that his boyfriend was entirely too much of a mess for him to go on this trip to make this contact for him. He sent me to pass along the message that he wasn\'t coming till the weekend when his boyfriend was more stable. He\'s not meeting him for sex. He didn\'t tell me what it was all about. But that\'s what I\'m here for. That\'s as long as I\'m staying.\"

Tanya says she understands, but I can tell by her eyes that she doesn\'t. She is lying to me. \"This is an important trip. I must make my contact,\" I insist to her.

\"Did he have reservations?\"

\"Yes. Potter. Harry Potter.\"

Tap. Tap. Tap and she gives me a plastic card in a sheath of paper with a number in marker drawn over it. I\'m not sure what to do at this stage. I open my mouth to explain that I\'m not even sure why I\'m here. Potter\'s involved in all manner of dodgy enterprises. Not because he has to be. The Malfoys and Potters left plenty of money. Potter just likes the thrill. If this weren\'t dodgy, I suppose I wouldn\'t have been sent, and because of that reasoning, I close my mouth again.

Tanya looks at me warily. Las Vegas loves a drunk. I get the sense that Tanya doesn\'t share that love. But this is her job. \"See those people over there?\" she asks, pointing out the colorful bunch of sodomites heading up to their rooms, presumably to fit and beat on one another. One is done up as a horse. I tilt my head and perk a brow at the way the tail is sprouting out of its ass. \"You need to get on those elevators and go up to the fourth floor. Got it? Four,\" she says. I turn to look at her, but she\'s getting blurry and her voice echoes. Her four fingers waggle at me as she speaks in slow motion. Yes, this Lysergidie potion is good.

I hope I didn\'t slip and Apparate over to the lift because I can\'t remember how I got here. But there\'s a woman; her lips are red and her words are soothing. My eyes slide down to her lush cleavage bound up in snakeskin. She\'s in snakeskin all the way down to her boots. \"Lost, little boy?\" she purrs. I hand her my card. \"Presumptuous aren\'t we?\"

I gargle something unintelligible even to me, but she makes sense of it and laughs delightedly.

\"Oh, I can\'t resist an Irishman,\" she sibilates. The lift dings and she pulls me in along with the horse person. I poke my finger at the blinders and its owner slaps at my hand. I\'m jerked back by my new friend and she hisses into my ear, \"Oh my, too much whiskey, dear?\"

\"Or just enough,\" I respond. I reach back to touch her. I am making a fool of myself and even I know that, but she seems to think it\'s funny.

\"Well, my sweet Irishman, I can\'t leave you all to your own in this big scary world.\" Her arms wrap around me and I certainly don\'t mind.

The lift opens on the third floor, and that\'s not my floor, but she pulls me with her anyway. Who am I to complain? We walk down an eerily elongated hall that seems to have no end to it. Each duplicated door is open wide displaying the libertine activities inside. She says something about hospitality suites and parties. I stop at one door and stare as I see two women shagging a polar bear. Only it\'s not a bear, it\'s a wolf. There are dogs and monkeys and they\'re all sniffing one another\'s crotches and touching anthropomorphized breasts and cocks. It is mayhem, dogs and cats living together. It\'s a room full of animal pornography; really kinky stuff with monkeys tossing off to two pigs shagging a bat.

\"Furries, lover. Weird, aren\'t they?\"

I turn to look at her to agree, but as I\'m looking up her leg I realize she wasn\'t wearing snakeskin, but she is a snake, a large snake. My eyes lower to the ground immediately, as she could be a Basilisk and looking those in the eye is lethal. Potter talks to snakes, doesn\'t he? Did I become a Parselmouth? Five years after the War and my Syndrome effects turn me into a Parselmouth? Have I looked into her eyes? Am I dead already? I\'m not ready to die, so I\'d better do as she says.

We get to her room and I realize I\'m trapped. She orders me to take off my clothes. Is it a she? It\'s a snake, how do you know? I hear a whirring sound and feel her body slithering against mine. My arms are locked up over my head and I don\'t remember quite how that happened but there\'s nothing for it now. Her forked tongue is lapping against my face and I keep my eyes determinedly closed. There is no way around it; this snake is invading me on all fronts. I feel its hard tail pressing into my rectum as its fangs nip at my shoulders. It\'s hissing into my ear and calling me a good boy. A good boy, so well behaved.

I shiver as it wraps around me, snaking itself over my prick and onto my chest. It lets me down from the scaly tethering and I can\'t see where I\'m going but feel myself lowered to a bed, \"You took that so well, Shamus, so well.\"

Now I\'m really afraid. It knows my name. It found my name out somehow. Although it\'s mispronouncing it in its American drawl, I can hear the difference. American Basilisks have different accents to their British counterparts, I note before I feel its clammy wet slit over my mouth. \"Lick it!\" it hisses at me as it rubs its opening roughly over my lips. It\'s silken insides even taste reptilian; metallic and sour with a bitter hint of something very wrong, beyond just the copper taste of blood, although there are traces of that as well, but also not altogether unlike trout. My tongue laps deep into it and I nip at the sides of its entrance. I hear it snarling and feel the sound vibrate against my body as it writhes all over me. It shrieks in a paroxysm of pleasure as if I\'m killing it, bellowing in a rather un-snakelike manner. But then, this is my first experience at hearing snakes, let along shagging one. How do I know what it\'s supposed to sound like?

My tongue is still lapping at the slit when I feel the Basilisk gliding over my prick. I look down at the neat opening in the snakeskin as it widens and swallows me into its silken cold-blooded depths. Wait... what was that? Something white, pointed and gleaming deep in the depths of its cavernous hole? Were those fangs? I\'m pretty sure I saw fangs in its glistening folds! I watch the way my cock shimmers as it slaps in and out of the enveloping snake opening. There\'s something wrong with it. Something wrong with my prick! It\'s too red, entirely too red! The Basilisk eating me with its cunt... slit... thing, I\'m bleeding! It\'s red, my prick is red. I scream and cry there\'s something wrong with my prick!

Shredded, my cock is being shredded in this she-bitch-Basilisks cunt-slut with fangs. I can feel the flesh rending, the organ tearing. I scream out and my hands grab wildly at the polyester bed covering as I thrash. My cock, it\'s eating my cock, and I can feel it, the tearing like a cheese grater over skin, only it\'s my prick and I know it\'s bleeding. It\'s a gory mess and the blankets will stain and I bet room service will charge extra for removing my body from her hotel room, but she won\'t care because it\'s EATEN MY PRICK.

I feel a hard slap across my face and I\'m told not to be hysterical. I can\'t help it. I open my eyes. My erection flags as I think I\'m going to die and it\'s the Basilisk and she\'s glaring at me, but I\'m not dying. I laugh and I feel a hard slap to my face again. She slithers back off of me and demands that I leave. It throws my clothes at me and yells about my being a drunk. Immediately, I sit up to look at my prick and am relieved that whatever the red is, it rolls off of my prick. It\'s a weird red sleeve... it\'s a condom. I laugh and she shrieks at me to leave. I clumsily get my pants and trousers on and slip my shirt on and wander out of her room.

I can\'t wait to tell Potter I\'m a Parselmouth.

~~

Seamus belongs to JK Rowling. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas belongs to Hunter S. Thompson. Tap-tap-tapping belongs to E.A. Poe. \"Dogs and cats living together,\" belongs to the \"Ghostbusters.\" \"Two pigs and a bat\" belongs to Kids in the Hall. CSI provided the title and plot bunny. Oh yeah, I stole a lot on this acid trip.

Meant to emulate the style of Hunter S. Thompson, but per the disclaimer, I shamelessly hijacked from everywhere. Special thanks to xingou for helping with the name of the potion Lysurgidie and for confirming that this was acid trippy. Extra special thanks go to Soma, wine and Excedrin PM without which, I am nothing. Written for hp_squick\'s Luck O\' the Irish: Seamus Smut Challenge. Thanks to Toni for the beta!