Day 1: Public Tease

Day 1: Public Tease

The meeting had dragged on for what felt like hours. Harry sat stiffly in his chair, his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room where the Order of the Phoenix had gathered. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the grim faces of those seated around the long table. Kingsley Shacklebolt was speaking about security measures, his deep voice commanding attention, but Harry's mind was elsewhere.

Specifically, it was on Snape.

Snape sat directly across from Harry, his dark eyes fixed on Kingsley as if he were paying close attention, but Harry knew better. He could feel the weight of Snape's gaze every time their eyes briefly met across the table, could sense the quiet intensity in the man's presence, even as he outwardly maintained his usual cold, aloof demeanor.

But there was nothing cold about the way Snape's boot was currently brushing against Harry's ankle under the table, the subtle contact sending jolts of heat through Harry's body. It was maddening, the way Snape's foot would occasionally shift, nudging Harry's leg, the movement just light enough to be dismissible if anyone were watching but intense enough to keep Harry on edge.

Harry fought to keep his breathing steady, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table. The tension between him and Snape had been building for weeks now—heated glances, fleeting touches, stolen moments in the dark corners of Grimmauld Place when no one was looking. But this—this was something different. This was deliberate, and it was driving Harry mad.

Snape's boot nudged Harry again, this time with more pressure, a silent reminder of their unspoken connection. Harry swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Snape's face, but Snape was as expressionless as ever, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering firelight. His focus never wavered from Kingsley, but the subtle movement of his foot beneath the table told a different story.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the growing heat in his body making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. His heart pounded in his chest, a flush creeping up his neck as he tried to ignore the sensations building inside him. But it was impossible to ignore the way Snape's foot slid up his calf, the pressure increasing just enough to make Harry's breath hitch.

Merlin, he was going to lose it.

Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, Harry reached under the table and grabbed Snape's ankle, gripping it tightly in a silent warning. But Snape's response was immediate and maddening—a faint twitch of his lips, the barest hint of a smirk that sent Harry's blood boiling.

The bastard was enjoying this.

Harry's fingers tightened around Snape's ankle, but Snape didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his foot, brushing it deliberately against the inside of Harry's thigh. Harry bit down hard on his lip to stifle a gasp, his entire body tensing as the contact sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. His trousers felt unbearably tight now, and the combination of frustration and arousal made it almost impossible to sit still.

He couldn't take much more of this. If Snape kept going, Harry was going to do something reckless—something that would give them away. The thought should have terrified him, but instead, it only heightened the thrill, the danger of what they were doing.

Just then, Snape's foot slid higher, brushing against the unmistakable bulge in Harry's trousers. Harry's breath caught in his throat, his vision momentarily swimming as the heat pooled low in his stomach. His fingers clenched tighter around Snape's ankle, but the older man showed no sign of stopping. If anything, the pressure increased, Snape's foot pressing firmly against Harry's crotch in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing through him.

Oh, fuck. Harry's grip slackened, his resolve crumbling as the pleasure overwhelmed his senses. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and he barely registered Kingsley's voice continuing to drone on in the background. All he could focus on was the way Snape's foot was teasing him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his control.

The audacity of it—Snape was teasing him in the middle of an Order meeting, with everyone around them completely oblivious to what was happening. It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly intoxicating.

Snape's foot pressed harder, and Harry's hips jerked involuntarily, his body betraying him as a soft, strangled sound escaped his lips. His eyes snapped open, his heart racing in panic, but no one seemed to have noticed the slip. Tonks was nodding along with Kingsley, and Lupin was too focused on his notes to pay attention to Harry's flushed face or the subtle tension in his posture.

Snape, however, noticed everything. His dark eyes flicked to Harry for the briefest of moments, his lips curling into a barely perceptible smirk, as if daring Harry to make another sound. The challenge in his gaze was clear—how far could Harry go without breaking?

Harry's entire body was trembling now, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he tried to maintain his composure. His hand, still gripping Snape's ankle, loosened, and without thinking, he slid it higher, his fingers brushing against Snape's leg, his touch firm and insistent. Two could play at this game.

Snape's smirk faltered for a split second, but his foot didn't stop its torturous movements. If anything, the pressure increased, and Harry had to bite down hard on his lip to suppress the moan that threatened to escape. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of control, his body straining for release, but the risk of getting caught only added to the thrill.

He had to get control back. He couldn't let Snape win this easily.

Harry's hand slid higher up Snape's leg, his fingers curling around the edge of Snape's inner thigh, just beneath the hem of his robes. He applied pressure, teasing the sensitive skin there, and was rewarded with the faintest twitch of Snape's lips—a small crack in his otherwise unflappable composure.

Encouraged, Harry pressed harder, his fingers inching dangerously close to Snape's crotch. He kept his gaze locked on Kingsley, pretending to pay attention as his hand continued its slow, deliberate exploration beneath the table. He could feel Snape's body tense, could sense the shift in the air as Snape's control wavered ever so slightly.

But Snape was nothing if not disciplined.

With a sharp, almost imperceptible movement, Snape's foot pressed hard against Harry's crotch, sending a shockwave of pleasure through his body. Harry's hand froze, his breath hitching as the sudden intensity of the sensation nearly undid him. His grip on Snape's thigh tightened, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on, but Snape didn't let up.

Oh, God.

Harry was seconds away from coming undone, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He could feel the heat pooling low in his stomach, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, but he couldn't—he wouldn't—let Snape win. Not here. Not now.

But Snape, sensing Harry's desperation, leaned back ever so slightly in his chair, his gaze flicking to Harry with a look that sent shivers down Harry's spine. The silent message was clear: You will break first.

Harry's hand clenched into a fist beneath the table, the pressure on Snape's thigh increasing as he fought to maintain control. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his entire body strung tight with anticipation and arousal, but he refused to give in. He wasn't going to let Snape win this time.

But then, with one final, deliberate movement, Snape's foot pressed against him in just the right way, and Harry's entire body jerked involuntarily, a low, strangled moan escaping his lips before he could stop it.

The sound was soft—barely audible over the crackle of the fire—but it was enough.

Snape's smirk widened, victory gleaming in his dark eyes as he pulled his foot away, leaving Harry trembling and breathless, on the very edge of release. The sudden absence of contact was almost painful, the denial of pleasure making Harry's body ache with need.

And Snape knew it.

Without a word, Snape rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he gathered his robes around him. The rest of the Order was still deep in discussion, oblivious to the silent battle that had just taken place. But as Snape turned to leave the room, his gaze locked with Harry's for the briefest of moments, and the message was clear.

Follow me.

Harry's pulse quickened as he watched Snape leave, his heart racing with anticipation. He waited a few agonizing seconds, his body still trembling with the aftermath of Snape's teasing, before he rose from his chair as well. No one paid him any mind as he slipped out of the room, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor as he followed Snape down the darkened hallway.

The moment he rounded the corner, Snape was on him.

Harry barely had time to react before Snape shoved him up against the wall, his body pressing hard against Harry's as his lips claimed Harry's in a bruising, aggressive kiss. The intensity of it—the sheer force of Snape's desire—was overwhelming, and Harry melted into the kiss with a low groan, his hands instinctively flying up to clutch at Snape's robes. The kiss was raw, hungry, filled with the kind of pent-up tension that had been simmering between them for weeks, if not months. Snape's mouth moved over Harry's with punishing force, his teeth grazing Harry's bottom lip before his tongue plunged inside, claiming every inch of Harry's mouth with possessive fervor.

Harry's head spun as the heat from the meeting flared into something uncontrollable. The earlier teasing felt like a cruel prelude to this—Snape's hands now roamed his body with purpose, his fingers digging into Harry's hips, pulling him flush against him. The hard press of Snape's body against his own sent a shockwave of lust through Harry's already overheated frame, and he responded in kind, his own hands grabbing fistfuls of Snape's robes, tugging him closer as their bodies collided.

"Couldn't take it, could you, Potter?" Snape growled against Harry's lips, his voice low and dangerous. There was no mistaking the satisfaction laced in his words, the thrill of victory as palpable as the arousal between them. "You almost gave yourself away in front of the entire Order."

Harry groaned in frustration, trying to push back, to regain some semblance of control, but Snape wouldn't allow it. Snape's hands tightened their grip, holding Harry in place as he leaned in, his breath hot against Harry's ear.

"Pathetic," Snape whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below Harry's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "You're so easy to break. So desperate to come undone."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he felt Snape's hand slip between them, expertly undoing the button on Harry's trousers with practiced ease. He was still reeling from the sensory overload, his body trembling with need, but he wasn't about to let Snape have all the power.

"I wasn't the one teasing during the meeting," Harry shot back, his voice shaky but defiant. He managed to slip one hand between their bodies, palming Snape's erection through his trousers. The hiss of breath Snape let out at the contact was enough to send a wave of satisfaction through Harry, and he grinned despite himself. "You're just as desperate as I am."

Snape's eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and desire, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The hallway was dark and quiet, the only sound their labored breathing and the faint crackle of the fire from the meeting room down the corridor. The tension hung thick between them, their bodies pressed so close that Harry could feel every rise and fall of Snape's chest, every twitch of muscle.

But then, Snape's lips twisted into a smirk—a dangerous, predatory smile that made Harry's pulse quicken.

"You think you're in control now, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Harry's in a whisper of a kiss. "Let me show you just how wrong you are."

Before Harry could react, Snape's hand slid down the front of his trousers, his fingers wrapping around Harry's aching cock with ruthless precision. Harry gasped, his head falling back against the wall as Snape's grip tightened, stroking him with maddening skill. The sensations were overwhelming, the heat pooling low in Harry's stomach as pleasure coursed through his veins.

"Is this what you want?" Snape growled, his voice harsh as his hand moved faster, relentless. "To be reduced to a quivering mess at my hand?"

Harry bit his lip, his hands clutching at Snape's robes as he tried to hold on, to resist the tide of pleasure threatening to pull him under. But it was impossible—Snape's hand was too skilled, his touch too precise, and Harry could feel himself spiraling out of control, his body trembling with need.

"Yes," Harry gasped, his voice barely more than a breath. "Please—don't stop."

Snape's smirk widened, and he pressed his body harder against Harry, trapping him against the wall as his hand continued its merciless assault. Harry could feel Snape's erection pressing against his thigh, could hear the ragged edge in Snape's breathing, and he knew that neither of them could hold out much longer.

"Pathetic," Snape hissed, but there was a crack in his voice now, the same desperation that Harry felt building in Snape's own body. "You're so close, Potter. Are you going to come for me, right here in the hallway like the desperate little brat you are?"

Harry whimpered, his body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. He was on the edge, teetering dangerously close to release, and the thought of coming undone right here, with Snape's hand wrapped around him, was enough to make his mind spin.

"I—" Harry's voice caught in his throat as his body tensed, every muscle coiling tight as the wave of pleasure crashed over him. "I can't—"

"Come," Snape commanded, his voice a low growl as his hand stroked faster, rougher. "Now."

That was all it took.

Harry's body convulsed, a choked cry escaping his lips as his orgasm hit him with the force of a tidal wave. His entire body jerked violently, his hands clutching at Snape's robes as he came, his release spilling over Snape's hand in hot, desperate spurts. The pleasure was blinding, overwhelming, and Harry slumped against the wall, his legs barely able to hold him up as he gasped for breath.

Snape's hand slowed, his grip loosening as he guided Harry through the aftershocks, his touch still firm but gentle. For a moment, they stood there in the darkness, their bodies pressed together, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

Harry's head swam as he came down from the high, his body still trembling with the remnants of his release. His knees felt weak, his mind foggy with satisfaction, but there was a part of him that still craved more—that wanted to turn the tables on Snape and make him come undone just as violently.

Snape seemed to sense it. He pulled his hand away, wiping it clean with a flick of his wand before stepping back slightly, his gaze still locked on Harry's flushed face. There was a glint of something in Snape's eyes—something dark and hungry—and Harry knew that this wasn't over.

"On your knees, Potter," Snape commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "I want to see just how well you can obey."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, the thrill of submission flooding through him once more. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees in front of Snape, his gaze flicking up to meet Snape's as he reached for the waistband of Snape's trousers.

Snape watched him with a predatory gaze, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained anticipation as Harry slowly unfastened his trousers, pulling them down just enough to free Snape's aching cock. The sight of it—hard, heavy, and leaking with need—sent a fresh surge of heat through Harry's body, and he licked his lips, eager to take Snape in his mouth.

But Snape wasn't ready to let Harry have full control.

"Slowly," Snape ordered, his hand tangling in Harry's hair as he guided Harry's mouth toward him. "I want to savor this."

Harry obeyed, his lips parting as he took Snape's cock into his mouth, the weight of it hot and heavy on his tongue. He started slow, just as Snape had instructed, his tongue swirling around the tip as he took more of Snape into his mouth, inch by inch.

Snape groaned, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair as he fought to maintain his composure. Harry's mouth worked him with deliberate slowness, his tongue teasing and tasting, his lips sucking gently as he built up a rhythm. The taste of Snape was intoxicating, and Harry found himself lost in the act, his own arousal stirring once more as he took Snape deeper into his mouth.

"Fuck," Snape growled, his hips bucking slightly as Harry's mouth closed around him with more pressure. "Just like that…"

Harry could feel the tension building in Snape's body, could hear the ragged edge in Snape's breathing as he neared his own release. He quickened his pace, his mouth moving faster, more urgently, as he sucked Snape's cock with everything he had, his hands gripping Snape's thighs for support.

Snape's control finally broke. With a low, guttural moan, Snape's hips jerked forward, his cock twitching in Harry's mouth as he came, hot and thick down Harry's throat. Harry swallowed around him, taking everything Snape gave him, the taste of it sending a fresh surge of heat through his body.

For a moment, they stayed like that—Harry on his knees, Snape's cock still in his mouth, their bodies trembling with the aftermath of release. Then, slowly, Snape pulled away, his hand still resting on the back of Harry's head, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Harry looked up, his eyes locking with Snape's, and the shared understanding between them was palpable. This wasn't the last time.