[Some time later]

Thor had been visiting for days. Thor brought out the worst in Loki, but in order to spare everyone awkwardness, they were holding off on any discipline until Thor went away. Instead they'd kept a running tally - and once big brother was gone, it was time to pay up.

Only a handful of strokes in, though, Loki was tense and squirming. Even hissing a little.

That was odd; the guy wasn't exactly known for fragility and Tony wasn't hitting that hard anyway.

"You okay?" he said at last. Loki answered with just a jerky nod, which was not very convincing, so he reached up for a pat on the shoulder.

"No!" Loki jumped and twisted away.

"Okay, okay." Tony withdrew fast – wondering what the hell that was all about. "Sorry. You just look, y'know, not thrilled. I thought maybe-"

"I am fine, Stark," he snarled.

Tony poked him with the paddle. "Sure. And you're totally doing the smart thing, acting like a giant dick while being punished for being a giant dick. Makes perfect sense."

"Hit me harder, then," he challenged. "Make me sorry."

He caught himself in time, and made himself be nice. "I was actually just about to ask if you need a break or something," he said, doing his best even though Loki was irritating as all hell. "Walk it off, lose the attitude, and we'll finish up when your mood's a little better. Okay?"

"No." His voice dropped and the attitude fell away. "That's not necessary. Just go on."

Right. He put the paddle down. "Not happening. Stand up and talk to me."

Nothing.

He heaved a huge sigh. "Are you going to make me pull rank? I said: stand up."

Loki obeyed then, shoving himself up to his feet, but kept his back turned.

Hiding his face - why? "Hey. Did I hurt you?"

A derisive and creepy laugh.

"Talk to me. I'm not letting you out of here until you do."

"Then I suppose we'll be spending the rest of our lives in this room. Because I have no intention of giving you any more fodder for your mockery."

"As if I couldn't already mock you forever on what I've got." Oops. He tried again. "Sorry. Look... I'll behave." Loki didn't answer. "Hey. Plenty of people have good cause not to trust me," he said, "But I could swear I haven't broken any promises to you yet. So throw me a bone here and pretend to believe me when I say: I promise, no mockery."

"I don't-... Fine." A long whooshing breath. "The answer is no, Stark: you didn't hurt me. The problem is rather the opposite."

Tony blanked... until the god reached down to adjust his boxers. "Oh – shit." With a superhuman effort he managed not to laugh. "Somebody just pitch a tent?"

Loki brought a hand to his head as if to ward off headache. "I'm not familiar with your ridiculous Midgard terminology, but I believe the answer is yes. Now not a word; I hold you to your promise."

No mockery. One short chuckle was all that escaped him. "Wow. Okay, well, uh... yeah. Listen, if I'd known spanking floats your boat I wouldn't have suggested it as a method of punishment in the first place. Seems kind of counterproductive."

Loki spun to face him (and he had to peek and: yep. That was wood all right.). "I don't enjoy being beaten," he said, testy.

"Really? Then why, uh..."

"Probably because I haven't been touched in months now." Short and matter-of-fact, but there was still something a little nasty simmering under the surface. "Perhaps if you struck me with force, and omitted the petting, this wouldn't happen."

He was making no effort to cover up. Tony cleared his throat and tried to stop looking. "You, uh, wanna get dressed or something?"

"Why? While it's obviously humiliating to become aroused under such inappropriate circumstances, on that score the damage is done. I'm not at all embarrassed to be stared at."

Nor should he be, really. Tony finally tore his eyes away. "Okay, your call. Table this til another time?"

"No. Finish now – but actually hurt me, so that the problem doesn't get worse."

The problem. He had never seen somebody glower like that over an erection in all his life, but he managed to be a grownup and not giggle.

Stark shifted behind him. "Okay. Ten left, I think. You ready?"

"Yes. Go. From the elbow, not the wrist." There was a short silence, and it occurred to him that perhaps he ought not bark orders...

But Stark only huffed in pretend annoyance. "Look, I know how to be a dick with a paddle if I want to. I've hazed plenty of fraternity brothers in my time."

"Fraternity brothers?"

"You probably don't have those where you're from. Here goes."

It was a respectable blow, powerful enough to have pitched him forward if he hadn't already been lying braced against the couch. For a blessed second all he felt was the shock of it, drowning out his embarrassing arousal, and then came the pain which was just as effective. He lay still and focused on the sensation, the intense heat of it.

Stark waited a while after striking, as was his usual practice. The pause was surely intended as a kindness, but as the awful burning faded to a pleasant warmth Loki knew that his erection wasn't going to go away without sterner measures. He pushed himself up on his arms and gave a withering look over his shoulder. "You have nine tries left, Stark. If the problem still exists by the end I'm going to have a lot to say to you and very little of it will be flattering. What's the point of using that exercise room if you can't even– AH!"

He faced forward again, momentarily deprived of breath. He dug his fingers into the couch and waited until he thought he could speak steadily. "Better, I suppose."

"Oh, I'm just warming up, princess," Stark said, cool. Another blow.

...And another, before he had even managed to restart his breathing. He gagged on nothing, and finally managed to suck in a whoop of air. "That's-." Then he grit his teeth. He would not be reduced to involuntary babbling.

"Yup," Stark said cheerfully. "Now we're talking."

"Ah-..." The next stroke made him jerk hard, and it shot a bright bolt of pain all up and down his back. He realized then how tense he was, all over, but before he could relax Stark was laying into him again.

Stark was strong, when he wanted to be. There were still – how many? – to go, and already Loki was on fire.

Well, good. That was what he'd wanted. He ungrit his teeth enough to ask: "How many was that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Stark said carelessly. "A couple. Why, weren't you counting? Maybe we should start over. Whaddaya say?"

Did Stark expect him to beg? Or just to be beaten harder for refusing? A wave of hate washed over him.

Well. He would not give anyone the satisfaction of knowing that he was in difficulty. He opened his straddle even further and arched, presenting himself proudly. "I will keep better count, then," he said, flat and steady. "Go on. One."

Tony hated Asgardian demigods. He really did. Him, he'd have responded to a little friendly teasing in kind, or threatened, or complained, or something. But this guy, no sense of humor at all, acted like his goddamn pride was actually under actual assault.

And Tony had no intention of actually torturing anyone. He brought the paddle down not half as hard as he had been, thunking it against Loki's boxers without any bite.

Loki twisted instantly to throw a suspicious look over his shoulder.

"Hello? Counting," Tony reminded, deadpan. He tapped the paddle against his own palm impatiently.

"Of course," Loki said – sounding more puzzled and less cold. "Two."

Tony went on like that, until at seven Loki sighed. "The kid gloves aren't necessary, Stark. You can hit me."

"Uh, sure." Why offer that? "Ready?"

"Mm-hm."

"Eight. You good? Okay, nine. Okay and: ten."

Afterwards, he put the paddle down and patted Loki's back. "You okay?"

He was twitching and breathing hard, but he said yes without hesitation.

"And your, uh... problem?"

"Has abated, yes." Loki cleared his throat. "Though if you continue stroking me I can make no guarantees."

He did hate to interrupt; a friendly hand on the shoulder was a pleasant counterpoint to the hot buzzing pain of the paddling and he would have liked to just lay still and savor it.

But Stark's other hand was wandering.

"Oh – shit." When it was pointed out to him, Stark moved it fast. "Sorry. Accidental groping. You know. That's sort of a thing with me, it just happens. Especially in the presence of runway models."

Loki laughed, and the hand returned.

"Yeesh - I can feel the heat coming off you. It really is actually, literally hot." The touch didn't bother him - it was cool and assessing. Clinical. Pressing here and there as though trying to determine whether the damage was uniform. "Does it hurt?"

"Now?" He considered. There was some soreness... but nevertheless he felt excellent.

Then he frowned: he had better not be becoming one of those people whose boat was floated by beatings after all. Stark would mock him to death for it.

"Oh yes. Horribly."

TBC.

Don't worry - in this story at least, he's not :-)

Let me know what you think so far!