A/N: So no nickname ideas have come in yet. That's ok. This chapter may create one for Loki, though I'm not sure how much I like it. I do, however, like the mental images this chapter produced. Hopefully, you'll find them enjoyable, too.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the universe and the characters. I just like making them do...improper things.

Steve walks into his apartment and slams the door behind him. The motorcycle ride did not calm him down as much as he'd hoped, and he feels the need to hit something. A week ago he would have gone straight to the gym and taken his frustrations out on multiple hanging bags. But he has something better now, something far more satisfying.

He rolls up his sleeve and taps his left arm three times. "Loki. Come." While he waits, Steve goes to the bed and slides out the duffel bag. He pulls out each item, examining it, thinking of the marks it will leave, the pain it will inflict. He picks up the paddle. He hasn't had the pleasure of using it yet. And it reminds him of the type of punishment spoiled billionaires like Tony Stark should be getting.

Steve looks over his apartment. The god should be here by now. Why isn't he here yet? The soldier taps his forearm again. "Loki. Get your ass over here now." He angrily throws everything but the paddle back into the duffle bag and leaves it exposed on the floor.

Loki appears in his Asgardian leathers, his right hand holding the left arm protectively. "Feeling a little impatient?"

"What kept you?"

"I was with someone. It was difficult to get away."

The soldier feels a flare of jealousy. His voice is commanding, cold with anger. "Who?"

Loki drops his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm here. I obeyed."

Steve strides to the god. He takes Loki's chin in his hand and forces the head up "Tell me who."

"His name is Namor. He lives beneath the sea in a place called Atlantis, a perfect location for me to hide."

"Atlantis," Steve repeats, disbelief in his voice.

"Yes."

"As in the Lost City of Atlantis."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "I managed to find it."

Steve lets it go, deciding to return to the more important matter. "The man you were with…Are you and he…?"

"No. He is a potential ally, nothing more. I am yours, Captain…only yours." He focuses on the blue eyes and their stormier-than-normal appearance. "I should have been here sooner. And I thank you for the lengthy reminder," he says as he moves his arm up slightly. "I deserved it. I deserve more."

"Show me," the soldier softly commands, his eyes darting down to the arm.

The left sleeve of Loki's leather coat and shirt disappear. 'Get your ass over here now' appears across two faded red rows on his forearm.

Steve resists the urge to taste the words. Instead, he looks up into the green eyes. "I want you in black slacks, a white short-sleeved dress shirt and a green tie with thin, red angled stripes." Then he adds, "and glasses…with thick black frames."

Loki finds it oddly specific, but he complies silently.

The soldier reaches out and messes up the god's hair a bit. It's perfect. If the Trickster was half his actual height, anyone would think he attended a private prep school. All that's missing is a blue blazer with some huge ugly crest on it.

Steve smiles. He grabs the tie and leads the god to the bed. "Bend over."

The paddle is on top of the royal blue comforter. It catches Loki's eyes as he complies. He smiles slightly as his hands brace themselves on top of the bed. His legs are slightly apart. He watches as the soldier's strong hand wraps around the handle of the paddle and lifts it.

The first blow sends Loki headfirst into the mattress. He was certainly not expecting that much force. During their previous encounters, the Captain always started rather softly then was coaxed into using more strength. But this…this is new.

Loki apologizes then gets back into his original position, except this time he spreads his legs farther apart. When the next blow comes, his body moves forward, but he doesn't fall. And the pain…He feels like his ass is still reverberating from the strike. Before it stops, there's another hit.

"You think you're better than everyone else, don't you," Steve accuses before striking again. "You look down on us like we're nothing, less than nothing." Another blow. This one makes the god grunt. "You're not special." Whack! "You're not above the rest of us." Whack! "You deserve nothing." Whack!

Loki is breathing heavily now. The blows are numbing his ass, bringing tears to his eyes, making his muscles tense and strain just to stay upright. This is personal. The god can feel it with each blow, can hear it in the venom of each word. And then Steve's mouth is against his ear.

"You privileged bastard. You had every opportunity handed to you on a silver platter. And you never appreciated it."

"I did," Loki blurts out. He can't help himself. "I was grateful and humble and clever. I was everything they wanted me to be, but it was never enough." He turns and looks at Steve, hatred in his eyes. His voice is soft, dangerous. "Do not punish me for being ungrateful. I was never ungrateful. Punish me for not being Thor. Punish me for being a monster."

Steve, suddenly less sure about what he's doing, steps back and raises the paddle once again.

There's a knock at the door.

The soldier freezes. He and Loki look at each other just as another knock comes. The artist puts down the paddle and walks softly to the door. He looks through the peep hole then opens the door about six inches.

Natasha is standing outside. "Captain," she nods. "After your shouting match with Stark, I thought you'd be at the gym."

"I decided to come home instead. Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I'm fine. Thanks. Have a good night." He starts to close the door.

"Whoa there, Captain," she says, sticking her foot between the door and the doorjamb. "Are you sure you're okay?" Natasha senses something is off with him. He seems…anxious? aroused? That can't be right. Her eyes dart quickly to his crotch then back up to his face. Not aroused…at least not that way. "You seemed really upset when you left." She tries to peer inside the apartment.

"I was. I'm fine now." He blocks her roaming eyes. "I might go for a run later," he offers.

"Is someone in there?"

"No." But he's unused to lying, and she can easily tell his deception.

"Okay." She backs away slightly. Natasha waits for him to relax then darts inside. "So you do have someone here. Just not the kind of someone I expected."

Steve panics. He turns around and sees a black cat with brilliant green eyes lying on his bed. The paddle and duffle bag are nowhere in sight.

"I figured you as more of a dog person."

"I am. The cat 's a stray. He followed me home a few nights ago. He shows up every few days." No deception there. Every word is true.

Natasha goes to pet the cat. He hisses and swats his paw at her. "Doesn't seem very friendly."

Steve walks to the bed, standing on the opposite side as Natasha. "I don't know. He seems to like me enough to obey." He holds his hand out. "Come." Loki goes to him and starts rubbing against the Captain's hand and purring.

The agent isn't convinced. "He likes you…probably because you feed him. That doesn't mean he obeys you. Cats don't obey."

Steve smiles. "Go to Natasha. Let her pet you."

The cat turns its green eyes to the Captain. There is a pause before the black creature slowly walks to the agent. Loki sits stiffly as Natasha hesitantly reaches out her hand and pets him. There is no violent reaction from the cat this time. Natasha is impressed. "I've never seen a cat do that before."

"Guess I'm just good with animals." Steve holds out his hand again, and Loki practically prances back to him. "He calms me." The cat is rubbing against him and purring again.

"Well, they do say pets have a calming effect." She sees it in the Captain. He is calmer with the cat using his hand to pet itself. "For what it's worth, I agree with you. We won't find Loki until he wants to be found. But once Stark gets an idea, it is very difficult to change his mind."

"I appreciate that. And I appreciate your concern. But I'm kind of tired right now," he hints.

"You know, it isn't such a bad idea for us to move into Stark Tower. At least you'd have some protection there if Loki decides to come after us."

"No, it's a terrible idea. Can you imagine having to be indebted to that man? I'm not willing to give up my freedom, my privacy on the off chance that Loki might try to come after us. Besides, it's more likely he'd go after Thor or Bruce. Now if you don't mind..." He gestures to the door.

"Of course. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." She walks to the door. He follows. "Good-night, Steve."

"Good-night, Natasha." He closes and locks the door once she's left. When he turns back around, Loki is standing in human form beside the bed.

"So Stark...," the god begins but doesn't bother to finish.

"Yeah." Steve walks back to him. "Nice work, Cat."

"I'm so glad you're pleased."

The artist removes the dark-framed glasses from the god. "You were very soft." He runs a finger down the bridge of Loki's nose then tracks his thumb across each cheekbone and along the brow from the center out. The desire to touch, to feel every inch of the Trickster is overwhelming.

Steve runs his fingers down the side of the god's face and along the jaw line. His other hand comes up, and his caresses feel as though he is sculpting a bust of Loki. His thumbs pass over the soft lips. His fingers explore the cartilage around each ear and bury themselves in the dark hair. His hands encircle the long neck.

The Captain loosens then removes the god's tie. He unbuttons the shirt slowly, relishing each inch of skin being revealed.

The shirt is slipped off of Loki's shoulders.

The artist's eyes are focused. His hands firm but gentle. The fingers run along each muscle and tendon of the chest, brushing against the nipples, gliding over the near-perfect skin noting every variance. They aren't flaws. He would never call them flaws, not when they do nothing but add to the beauty of the creature in front of him. He treats the god's left arm with the same care, noting the toned muscles, the long fingers, the dark hair of the armpit.

Then finally, the artist turns his attentions to the back. He goes over each shoulder blade, the feel of the muscles running across the back, each individual vertebrae following the delicate spine. He's memorizing with his fingers the structure and strength of the Trickster's sinewy body.

No one has ever touched Loki like this before. It's as though there is electricity flowing from the expert's palms and fingertips. The contact is painful in its gentleness, making his skin come alive wherever it roams. This isn't what he's used to. This isn't what he expected…ever. Loki closes his eyes, willing himself not to tremble, remembering the sting of the paddle from before.

Steve examines the right arm next with the same attention he paid the left. They are very similar. Most people would say they were exact, but the artist knows better. He notes every difference…how the muscles are just a little bigger, how this arm has a mole an inch to the right of the vein that runs down the center of the elbow, how that vein is less pronounced than on the other arm. He runs his hands around the slender wrist and over each long finger. He kisses the palm of Loki's hand.

The god stops breathing for a moment. He lets out a shaky breath. This man, this Midgardian is threatening his very existence. No. He won't let that happen. His mind again turns back to the sharp pain of the paddle until he swears he can feel its sting on his ass.

Steve returns to Loki's back. He kneels down and takes the shoes and socks off of the god's feet. Standing back up, his breath tickling the skin just below the Trickster's neck, he reaches around the waist in front of him and unfastens the black slacks. They fall to the ground, and Loki steps out of them. The artist gets down on his knees. He places two firm hands on the small of the god's back. The touch slides down, caressing the ass in front of him.

Steve has always been fascinated by the human form, and this one fascinates him more than most.

The artist runs a finger down the center of Loki's crack. The naked body trembles ever so slightly. He then concentrates on the right leg. He begins at the top of the thigh, the backs of his fingers lightly brushing the god's penis causing an involuntary reaction. Steve runs his hands carefully down the leg, over the knee, down the muscular calf, around the ankle, and over the feet and toes. He does the same to the left leg.

When he's done, he walks to face Loki and then goes again to his knees. The artist reaches out and slides his fingers into the course hair surrounding the genitals.

Loki's breath deepens but is now irregular. His cock is throbbing as his arousal visibly increases. It's not supposed to be like this. He's not supposed to enjoy the tender caresses, the unselfish attentions. But as the artist's fingers fondle his testicles, he has to place a stabilizing hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve is tangibly memorizing each testicle's shape and size and weight. Then he runs his fingers along the shaft of Loki's cock several times before gliding his thumb over the tip in gentle, ever-widening circles. He has to resist the urge to taste, to run his tongue along the sides, to encompass and suck and make Loki whimper. The fondling must be enough…for now.

Finally, finally, the artist's hands move away. He turns his head and kisses the hand on his shoulder. Standing up, Steve slowly removes his own shirt, unfastening each button slowly then slipping it off his shoulders. He removes his undershirt in one swift motion, revealing his sculpted torso.

The Captain walks behind Loki and sits on the bed. He removes his shoes and socks and throws them so they land where the god can see them. He does the same with his trousers. The covers are folded back to the foot of the bed. The pillows are arranged just so.

"Lie on the bed."

Loki does as he is told, choosing to lie face down. His ass still burns a bit from the paddle. But he is surprised when the soldier does not join him. Instead, the artist opens his nightstand and pulls out a pad of paper and a metal tin and sets them on the floor.

Steve walks to his little table in his white boxer shorts. He grabs a chair and moves it closer to the bed near the items he took out of the nightstand. He sits, lays the items on his lap, and opens the tin. He selects a charcoal stick and puts the box aside. After taking a long look at Loki, the artist begins to sketch.

Loki watches him, fascinated by his concentration and the complete disregard for the black smudges on his hands. The god wants him, wants to be hurt by him. "Would you be angry if I moved?"

"No."

"It will not ruin your picture?"

"No. I'm almost done anyway." He closes his eyes, recalling what the god's back felt like beneath his hands. Once he has it, he opens them again and uses that memory to guide the charcoal in his fingers. The artist does the same thing to ensure the ass in his drawing comes as close as it can to the beautiful reality. He returns the charcoal to the tin and sets it and the paper on the ground. "Hands and knees."

Loki lifts his head and watches as the soldier removes the white boxers, black smudges marking where he touches them.

"Hands and knees," he repeats with more firmness once he sees that the god has not obeyed.

Loki plants his hands firmly on the bed below him then lifts himself up onto his knees. He watches as the soldier pulls the duffel bag back out and retrieves the condoms and the lubricant.

Steve unwraps a condom and takes it and the lubricant to the bed with him. He gets behind Loki, reacquainting his hands with the god's torso and ass. Just being there behind him, remembering how it felt last time…their first time, makes the soldier hard. The condom gets unrolled around his dick, and lubricant is added to it and his fingers.

"How do you want it?"

Loki wants to tell him to make it hard and rough. But he knows his place. "However you wish to give it to me."

"And if I don't want to give it to you?"

"P-please. I beg of you"

Steve wraps his body on top of Loki's. "How do you want it?" he whispers into the ear below him.

"Hard," he finds himself saying. "Rough. Make me hate you. Make me need you." He feels a finger enter him, feels the welcome intrusion and takes it as a sign that they are finally back to before that woman came. Another finger enters him, and his breathing takes on a deep regularity. This is far more calming than the soft caresses from before.

The artist takes his hand away before pushing in with his dick. He had forgotten how good it feels, how tight the god feels around him. His thrusts are slow at first, slow and deep. He wants to feel the interior of his lover, to memorize what it's like to move inside him, to determine exactly which spots will make the god whimper and cry out.

"More. Please more, Captain."

Steve speeds up, the words spurring him on as much as his own body's desire. Again the bed begins to move beneath them, the headboard striking the wall with each thrust.

Loki moans as his prostrate is reached. He pushes his hips back against the soldier, trying to get more of him inside. One of his arms braces against the headboard, trying to prevent his head from hitting it with each thrust from the soldier.

The artist is losing himself. He almost forgets there is a man attached to the ass, finding he cares only about fulfilling his own need. Loki doesn't care. His needs are being fulfilled whether the Captain intends it or not. His moans mix with the soldier's grunts. His ass hurts from the earlier paddling and now from the way Steve's pelvis is hitting it with each forward push.

Steve runs one hand over Loki's back while the other wraps firmly around the god's cock and begins stroking fiercely. The Trickster's moans are faltering, the bliss almost too much to vocalize. And just as he reaches the pinnacle of his pleasure and begins to ejaculate, Steve's thrusts take on an orgasmic pulse, and he, too, cries out. They are both bucking now as their semen escapes in pleasurable streams that shut down their brains.

"Thank you, Captain. Thank you." Loki breathes.

Steve doesn't move. He's too busy experiencing how it feels to be inside Loki as they both catch their breath. His mind is too overwhelmed by how good it all felt, how relaxed his muscles are. Tony Stark is now the furthest thing from his mind.

Were it any other man, Loki would want to be vacated. But this Midgardian fills him in a way no one ever has. He can even forgive the soft caresses, the gentle fondling from before. How can he not forgive the man who brings him stars that burst in such pleasurable brilliance? So he simply drops the arm that had been braced against the headboard and waits.

The artist begins stroking Loki's back, almost as if the god were back in cat form. "I don't want this to end. If it ends, you'll go back to Atlantis."

"If you are through with me, yes. But if you wish something more from me…"

"I wish…I wish…I wish you were mine."

"I am yours."

"I wish I could put you in a box and take you out whenever I want."

"That box is Atlantis."

"Where that Name guy is." His voice has lost its wistfulness.

"Namor is the King. He will be too busy to pay me much attention. Besides, to him I am the God of Mischief – powerful, ruthless, controlled by no one. You are the only one I trust to punish me, the only one I will obey."

"And if I order you not to go back to Atlantis?"

"You will have yet another reason to punish me."

Steve finally separates himself from the god. He retrieves his t-shirt from the ground and places it below Loki. Soon it is damp with all of the semen from the bed. The condom comes off and is thrown away. Loki remains on the bed, lying on his side. The artist joins him.

"Don't go back to Atlantis."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes."

Loki pauses, making sure they both understand. The order will be disobeyed. The god will be punished the next time he is summoned. It is a wonderfully convenient arrangement.

"Is there anything else?"

Steve looks into those green eyes. "Turn into the cat again."

There is a shimmer of gold surrounding Loki until he is gone, replaced once again by a black cat. The cat walks to Steve and rests against his chest. The artist scratches Loki between the ears and pets him from the head to the tail. The god purrs contentedly and licks the soldier's chest with a rough tongue.

A smile appears on Steve's lips. "Good kitty." He nestles his nose into the black fur.

Loki leaves an hour later. It isn't until after he's gone and while the artist is making another sketch of the god that Steve realizes they never kissed. He finds it interesting for half a moment, then goes back to capturing the Trickster's lower back onto paper.