Neighbourhood Whore

BY : Lady'sDaughter
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 166676
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor its characters. Basically nothing you recognise is mine. I'm not making any money from this etc. Read the warnings!

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything and I’m not making any money from this (or at all, in this moment of my life). 
To be clear. This fanfiction is mostly sex. Lots of gay sex, underage and seriously underage sex (Slash/yaoi and shota-con), we are talking about a six, nearly seven years old having sex for favours - if this bothers you there are other beautiful ffs out there.
There’ll be some kinks: size kink, daddy kink, crossdressing, some dirty talking somewhere, videotaping of a minor in unsavoury positions (so, so wrong, and illegal, I know), curse words? In this chapter there's dub-con in the sense that Harry is really too young to express legal consent.
I’ll put disclaimers at the beginning of each chapter for everything.
This is a response to Guest_InAMood_’s prompt “Little Prostitute Harry” (go read YamiYuugi23’s version “Naughty Harry”, Yami’s the first one who responded)
You’ve been warned!


Harry reached up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead.

He tried very hard not to look up, he had work to do, he needed to finish weeding before his aunt came home. He couldn’t slack off just because Vernon and Dudley were out a week, “male bonding”.

But it was so frustrating! He knew that if he were to look up he would find Mr Holmes staring at him. It was days the man of n. 3 watched him while he did his chores, and it was a bit unsettling; Aunt Petunia didn’t want the neighbours asking about him. To be truthful, Harry didn’t want that either, it was better for everyone when the Dursleys could pretend he didn’t exist. 

Harry clenched his fists, his right arm hurt right above the elbow, where Uncle Vernon grabbed him too tight the day before; but he needed to – 

“Hey, kid.” Harry started. Mr Holmes was there, leaning against the wall and staring at him with strange intensity.

Harry bounced on his feet and shrugged some grass off his hands. “Can I help you, sir?” 

The man squared him. “Maybe you could. How are you?”

“I’m f—”

“Don’t lie to me. I know your arm’s been bothering you. Come with me and we’ll see what can be done.” Harry backed off a step. “Come on, kid, I wouldn’t gain anything from hurting you.”

“My Aunt—”

“If I know Mrs Whiteman’s tea parties any, she won’t be done for hours.” 

Harry grimaced.

“Interrupting’s rude, you know? Sir.”

The man nearly grinned. It was nothing more than a slight upturn of his lip and a sparkle in his eyes, but still a change from his usual impassiveness. 

“Let’s go,” Mr Holmes didn’t waste time composing himself and offered Harry his hand. He seemed ready to take off to n. 3, uncaring of Harry‘s reputation in the neighbourhood and common social niceties. 

Harry breathed deeply, shrugged mentally and took his hand. After all, what could this man do that Uncle Vernon didn’t already?

They crossed the street and arrived right in front of Mr Holmes’s porch. Harry noticed that the garden, while not untidy, wasn’t really taken care of in the obsessive way Aunt Petunia demanded.

When they were right in front of the door, and Mr Holmes was ready to fish out the keys from his pocket, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The man interrupted his search and turned to look at the child. Harry was trying really hard not to shake, didn’t even know why his body was having the urge to.

Mr Holmes stared at him intently.

“Ask if you have a question, child.”

Harry breathed deeply without meaning to, not knowing if he had ever been allowed to question someone. His heart beat fast but he couldn’t let the opportunity slip by.

“What are we going to do?” 

“As I said, we’re going to look at that arm of yours. Then an early dinner, perhaps?” Mr Holmes answered calmly, casually. His eyes didn’t leave the child’s for a long moment. Then he slowly placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezed and let go in a matter of seconds. “Then maybe we can talk.”

Harry was a little more relaxed, but when Mr Holmes actually opened the door and made to step inside his body refused to move. The man looked at Harry just briefly before leaning in and picking the child up. He was so tiny and light he just had to hold him tight.

Mr Holmes stepped inside quickly and closed the door behind them but didn’t let Harry down.

Harry was just shocked. He wasn’t fearful at all, for whatever reason, and he didn’t know what the normal response to being held inside a stranger’s house was, so he didn’t even bother to question it when the only feeling he could discern inside himself was warmth. He thought it strange, but the whole situation was strange, he was strange, and maybe even Mr Holmes was. Unlike his relatives, he didn’t seem to have any qualms about touching him and was, in fact, stroking his back.

It felt nice, but Harry didn’t know if it should because he hadn’t felt anything like that before.

He just went with it and didn’t question it when Mr Holmes sat him on a nice couch before kneeling in front of him on the carpeted floor.

“Would you prefer to take your shirt off, or just hold your sleeve up for me?”

Harry didn’t say anything and just stared at the near-stranger for a bit before rolling his right sleeve up his arm till his shoulder, exposing a purple livid about the size of a big hand.

Mr Holmes spent only a second feeling around the bruise to make sure there wasn’t anything more concerning.

“Well, there’s nothing really wrong here, except for the beast who did this to you,” the man said, leaning back to sit on his haunches.

Harry didn’t understand it. Beast? It was just his uncle.

“Now, what would you like to eat?” Harry started a little from his thoughts and he felt the hand on his knee was a little strange, but didn’t say anything.

“You don’t need to feed me, sir,” murmured. He lowered his eyes and stared at that hand, curled around his thigh.

“Nonsense. I’m thinking pasta, if you would be amenable?”

“O-of course. Sir.”

“Great.” Mr Holmes heaved himself to his feet resting a little of his weight on Harry, then offered him a hand and didn’t let go till they were in the kitchen. There he just left Harry on a chair and went to work, never asking Harry to step in.

Mr Holmes was being really nice, making him dinner and letting him rest even if he was just a kid from his neighbourhood. 

He was an average kind of man, with brown hair, brown eyes, a little bend in his nose and a serious face. Harry didn’t know what kind of job Mr Holmes had. He seemed fit, unlike his uncle, but Harry didn’t really listen when Aunt Petunia went on about the neighbours, maybe if he had, he would have known why Mr Holmes was being nice to him. 

When Mr Holmes was done, he set the table sparsely. They spoke little during supper.

Once they were both done, Mr Holmes left the dishes in the sink and picked Harry up again. 

Harry let his feet dangle idly, a bit embarrassed but strangely pleased by the close proximity.

Mr Holmes took him to the hall and sat on the couch with Harry sideways on his lap. The boy felt blood rush up his cheeks and stammered a bit trying to explain he wasn’t a baby, but Mr Holmes didn’t let a complete word leave his mouth and started shushing him. He was again stroking his back, shoulders and hips, but it didn’t really seem so strange to Harry anymore after a dinner filled with soft touches seemingly out of nowhere.

“Does it bother you, when I touch you?” Harry shivered in his light, long-sleeved shirt and debated how to answer.

“...Not really.” Mr Holmes mmhed.

“And did you enjoy our dinner?”

“Yes, of course!” Harry was fast to reassure his host and nearly vibrated with the need to make this man understand how much he appreciated it. “It was great and I thank you very much, sir!”

“You are most certainly welcome.” Mr Holmes went from his hip to his thigh without pause or hesitation. “Let’s put it this way, I did something nice for you, and I would be amenable to more of the same, if you would be a good boy and do something nice for me too?” Mr Holmes had a carefully manufactured mask of casual thoughtfulness but overall indifference, and it just made Harry want to please him more.

“I would, sir. Of course, I would! I’d like to repay you but I don’t have—”

“Sssh, child, you have everything you need to please me. Maybe you could slip off this dirty shirt for a while?” He said, calm as you please, pulling said shirt a bit between his fingers, before Harry jumped off his lap and got rid of the shirt shortly. He froze then, wiggling his hands and not really sure whether to get on Mr Holmes again or stand around awkwardly.

The man took it off his hands when he just leaned in and grabbed his left wrist before pulling him on his lap and restarting to pet him right away.

He caressed his way on the bony limbs, massaging and pinching gently all over his chest, shoulders and back. Harry couldn’t keep himself from giggling when the man passed his long fingers over his belly. Mr Holmes didn’t seem to mind, he started rocking slightly on the spot, thrusting faintly up on Harry, who was just soaking up all the attention, the human contact and the caresses. He suddenly felt touch-starved. 

“Come on, kid, let’s get this off,” he breathed, tugging at Harry’s old and too big trousers.

Harry wormed his way out of them without leaving the other’s warmth, then dared rest his arms around the man’s wide shoulders, feeling empowered when he wasn’t just shrugged off. 

Mr Holmes unbuttoned his own trousers and pulled them down a bit, enough to let him do the same with his boxer shorts, exposing hard, erect flesh that instantly caught Harry’s attention. 

“What—?” Mr Holmes just took his right hand in his and put it on his shaft.

“It would bring me great pleasure if you’d just...” He took a breath longer than others, “Touch it, like this, grip it a bit.”

Harry was a bit weirded out, but he was more curious than anything else so he tried his best to make Mr Holmes sigh in a way that sounded pleased. 

So the kid gripped the hard, kinda wet flesh with both his hands and just went up and down while Mr Holmes petted him and murmured, “Good boy, that’s a good boy” under his breath. It was strange, because Harry didn’t feel anything more than accomplishment and curiosity, while Mr Holmes seemed way more into it, panting a bit and sweating. Harry felt every breath on his neck and between his hair, and his body was jolted by Mr Holmes’s every movement... When his chest rose, when his pelvis thrust up, when he gripped Harry tighter and held him close.  

Harry studied him from under his lashes when the man tensed up, a hiccup in his breath, before he let go and some white, sticky stuff shot out of that and landed on his hands and even on his belly. 

Mr Holmes totally relaxed then, leaning against the back of the couch and loosening his grip on Harry, recovering his breath in mere seconds.

“So that was that good?” 

“Yes, Harry. That was most certainly good.” 

Harry felt awkward then, not knowing what to do while Mr Holmes basked in the afterglow. He tried to be subtle, rubbing his hands together hoping to clean them a little, but Mr Holmes took them between his own and breathed deeply.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” The man was again focused on him with that strange intensity.

He tugged Harry to his feet, looked at him for the longest time before doing up his own trousers and getting up. 

He led Harry up the stairs and into a bathroom, where he wet a towel and rubbed it gently on Harry’s hands, then on Harry’s chest and belly, and when the child was as clean as he could get they returned to the hall, where Mr Holmes made Harry put on his clothes before leading him to the Dursleys’ home.

“Would you dine with me tomorrow?” Mr Holmes asked, leaning against his house’s wall like earlier in the afternoon. Harry snapped his head up from where he was again kneeling on the grass, near his aunt’s flowers.

“I can come again?” For whatever reason Mr Holmes got a little smirk on his lips.

“Of course. I actually insist.” His smirk relaxed into a smile when Harry bobbed his head frantically with an elated expression.

The man leaned down and ruffled Harry’s hair before leaving to return home, missing the baffled, hopeful expression on the kid’s face after that little gesture.


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