Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Neighbourhood Whore	By : Sabb402 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 195019 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 17
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!

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Disclaimer: I only own what I write, the characters etc. are JKR&co.’s and I’m not making any money from this (or at all, in this moment of my life).
Warnings: None? Maybe really intent staring?

Harry couldn’t have told for how long they lazed about on the bed, but he was terribly close to sleep when Mr Holmes spoke.
“Come on, time to get cleaned up. Then there’s some juice in the kitchen I bought just for you.” After saying this, the man left Harry a little time to really register his words, like he knew he still had to completely get his bearings back. Only then he started to gently nudge the boy until he got the idea and began the long and clumsy process of getting off the bed and on his two feet. He had to jump a little to return on solid ground, which sent a twinge up his bottom despite the time spent recovering, and when he tried to walk his legs still trembled a little. He had no time to stumble, however, because Mr Holmes was behind him at a moment’s notice, stabilizing him with a hand between his shoulder blades – which Harry was honestly too drained to perceive as the searing hot touch he would usually register.
He gradually got back the full use of his limbs as they slowly walked out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom. It became easier and easier, but for some reason, just the sight of the stairs sent a not-entirely-pleasant, tingling feeling up his bum. It seemed strange to be so aware of that part of him, but he thought it couldn’t be helped after the man paid so much attention to it. So he kept walking with Mr Holmes’ big hand warming up his back altogether too pleasurably for his peace of mind.
Once in the bathroom, they didn’t bother to close the door. They rarely did, knowing no one would disturb them. For Harry, such simple freedom felt especially good, after being shamed by his relatives for so many reasons... every aspect of his person, really. Learning not to care about these things from this unselfconscious neighbour that the Dursleys respected felt, well, the child didn’t know the word, but he felt almost vindictive. As he was lost in his own mind, the man got him in the tub and let the water from the showerhead run until he considered it warm enough.
Mr Holmes took the whole process completely out of his hands, and, with the water running down his body, it felt like the man washed away all the whirlwind of emotions he felt but barely acknowledged. As Mr Holmes rubbed soap on him and repositioned his body as needed with gentle hands, Harry felt pampered and almost floaty. The sensation enveloped him and stayed with him as the man set the stream of water to rinse him off as he attended to himself.
His favourite part of the whole endeavour, of course, was when Mr Holmes massaged his scalp and passed his hands through his hair to clean the messy mop; it was terribly relaxing... like he needed any more of that after their activities in the bedroom left him a liquid mess.

When Mr Holmes thought him clean enough, he exited the tub first and picked up Harry, depositing him naked and dripping on a pair of slippers clearly too big for him. Then he took a fluffy towel and wrapped Harry completely in it, it was so big, and started rubbing him down.
The man insisted on drying his hair as well, but it probably was just an excuse to keep petting him so he didn’t mind.

When they finally got out of the bathroom, Mr Holmes with a bathrobe and Harry swathed in the big towel, they went back to the bedroom for Mr Holmes to put on some new clothes. Harry’s were on the floor downstairs, so he just waited for the man, but the towel was so fluffy and still warm, even if a little wet now, that there was really no reason to complain. He would be perfectly comfortable wearing this all afternoon, actually. But after Mr Holmes put on trousers and a t-shirt (the most dressed-down Harry had ever seen him – well, when he was dressed), he came up to Harry with a little bundle in his hands.
“These,” he raised the bundle, “are for you.” He put it on the bed and made quick work of removing the towel Harry was basically swimming in. So the boy went and saw that what looked like a bundle was made up of a pair of shorts, pants, and a t-shirt, all tiny enough to fit him, which wasn’t something he’d seen... well, ever, as he could only remember wearing Dudley’s castoffs since he had memory of getting dressed.
They were clearly meant for him... Mr Holmes had even said so. But, he was still leery. He had never been allowed to touch new clothes unless he was washing them. He didn’t want to misstep now, of all times, when Mr Holmes seemed so relaxed and loose and, did he really say there was juice just for him? He didn’t think he could bear it if he did something he’d deserve a punishment for now, when he still had Mr Holmes’ caresses impressed on his skin like marks that should be on his body for all to see but were just memory.
In other circumstances, such conflicting thoughts would have sent him well on the way of working himself into a bit of a panic, but he was just worn out enough to stay perfectly still, naked in front of the clothes he... should be wearing?, trying to think about everything but just ending up thinking in circles instead. It was not very constructive.
Mr Holmes agreed, or maybe had just grown tired of watching him not accept his gift, for he took the situation in hand, like he always did, unfolded the clothes swiftly and held the pants open in front of him, asking him, with all the calm in the world,
“Raise your right leg, if you would.” So, of course, he raised his leg, then the other when Mr Holmes motioned for it and, before he could get his bearings back, he was lowering his arms and he was fully dressed in what the man had clearly bought, brand-new, just for him, seeing as he didn’t have sons around from which Harry may have gotten hand-me-downs.
“There, at least now you have something clean to wear after a wash.” Harry could only duck his head and whisper a thank you.
Once they were both dressed, they walked to the stairs, but Mr Holmes didn’t let him start to descend them, picking him up instead. Harry brought his arms around the man’s neck on instincts and let himself be carried to the kitchen, where Mr Holmes let him down on one of the padded chairs. (Not all of his chairs matched, which to hear Aunt Petunia tell it was one of the worst kinds of thing – which just went to show what Aunt Petunia knew.)
“Now, that juice I promised you.”
Harry could do no more than track the man’s movements as he went to the fridge, his mind still stuck on the new, soft clothes he was wearing. He took the cold glass of juice Mr Holmes poured him when it was handed to him and waited when the man gestured for it. He waited and thought of how comfortable he was there in Mr Holmes’ kitchen in his new clothes and how they would get dirty when Aunt Petunia sent him outside to work on the backyard and how he hoped nothing would tear when Uncle Vernon grabbed the back of his shirt to throw him in his cupboard for the night after he helped put away the dinner dishes. He didn’t want the first gift that he ever remembered getting to be ruined so soon. Still, he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. It wasn’t like the Dursleys would be any more careful with him even if he asked. They wouldn’t care that he had new clothes. Except, they would, wouldn’t they? They would be furious that he would dare wear anything other than what they gave him and- and... steal from nice, normal people that shouldn’t have to deal with a useless waste of space like him. He didn’t deserve such kindness.
But Mr Holmes had given it to him. And he already knew that the man was way nicer than his relatives. He might get offended if Harry didn’t appreciate his gift. At the same time, he couldn’t go back to the Dursleys’ wearing new clothes. It was a conundrum. One he couldn’t exactly contemplate right then, when Mr Holmes put a straw in his big glass and patted the crown of his head.
“Alright?” Harry nodded, determined not to let the thought of his relatives ruin Mr Holmes’ day. He would just have to find a solution. Later though. Once finally allowed to start drinking, he realised he was really thirsty and the first few sips of orange juice looked more like gulps. Once the cool liquid had settled in his belly, he slowed down.
This juice had juicy bits, which meant that sometimes he had to suck pretty hard to drink through the straw. All throughout the few minutes Harry spent attached to the green straw, he could feel Mr Holmes’ intent gaze fixated on him. For some reason, it didn’t bother him any, he didn’t feel funny, or self-conscious as he did up until three weeks ago, when he had just started coming by Mr Holmes’ house. It almost felt normal, now, so used he was to those dark brown eyes following his every move (being pretty sure he wasn’t going to be hurt over some imaginary error helped).
Once he’d finished, the man instructed him to leave the glass on the table even when Harry would have gone and washed it. But Mr Holmes didn’t even let him stand up on his own, making him wait until the man was there to help him up, untucking the chair from the table and guiding him with a steady hand at his back. It was all terribly unnecessary, seeing as the simmering throbbing in his behind wasn’t that bad and there was no risk that he was gonna fall or anything. He had walked in a lot more discomfort, the few times his uncle had gotten angry enough with him, there was no need to steer him all the way to couch in the living room, like he had somehow forgotten where it was since he’d last been there. Not that he was going to say any of this to Mr Holmes, his hands were always nice and warm, after all, it wasn’t exactly a hardship letting the man lead him around.
He sat on the couch with a gentle prompting and made himself comfortable as Mr Holmes recovered a book from his big library. It was clear the man was preparing for a long cuddle, and Harry was feeling positively chuffed about it. He waited patiently, his hands tucked under his thighs so he wouldn’t fidget, until Mr Holmes settled on one side of the couch, then he scooted over and lied down, his head on the man’s lap so he could be petted without disturbing the book in his other hand. And maybe, if he was really happy with him, Mr Holmes would start reading aloud. It was always nice and somewhat soothing to hear the man so calm and peaceful, even if Harry couldn’t understand half the words he heard. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to forget about everything that wasn’t Mr Holmes’ soft trousers under his cheek, the fresh smell of mint that clung to both of them since their shared shower, and the man’s hand in his hair. He had to enjoy this as much as he could before he had to leave. He knew he was being spoilt, after all. And he loved the experience.

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Neighbourhood Whore