A/N: So, I promised this one was coming, and now here it is. The end needs a bit of tweaking still but the whole thing is written out, so there shouldn't be any delays in posting. I'm planning to post every other day.

Like it says on the tin, this fic is based on Poetic Justice by Limmet. With paddling.

"I think," Stark said out of the blue one morning, "I may have figured out your problem."

Loki blinked. His problem? Singular?

"Why you're so scared all the time," Stark clarified. "Now don't deny it - you are."

Loki didn't deny it. How could he, when a sudden move on Stark's part still made his heart hammer, and a raised voice sent him cowering to the floor?

"I think it's just the lack of certainty," Stark said, calm and easy, as if he weren't ripping away the last vestiges of dignity Loki had been pretending to hang on to. "You're afraid because you have this idea that I'm going to do stuff to you, harmful stuff, and the problem is there's no way for me to prove that I'm not." He grinned. "Except I, peerless genius that I am, have finally thought of something."

He waited – obviously for an answer. Loki's food stuck in his throat but after three or four tries he managed to get it down. "What?" he said at last.

"We are going to establish a method of punishment for when you get on my bad side. In case this isn't already abundantly clear to you," he added (dripping with something Loki tried to tell himself was not condescension), "It will be something totally mild and non-terrifying. But that way, from now on you'll know exactly what harm to expect from me, which will be basically nothing, and you can stop imagining things that are horrible. Okay?"

He nodded. It wasn't clear to him how he was supposed to believe that Stark would stick to the promised method, since there was obviously no way to hold him to such a promise, but he kept quiet.

"Any questions? Come on, I know you have questions."

There was no point lying. "The obvious one," he said. "What is the method?"

"Glad you asked that." He seemed amused. "We, my friend, are going shopping."

After having been trapped inside for so long, with no one but Stark for company (company?), Loki was overwhelmed by the noise and bustle of the city as soon as they stepped outside. "Wait, I-, I..." Stark was trying to lead him down the block, a busy street, but there were people everywhere. Everywhere. A woman bumped into him and said excuse me. A man did, and hissed at him with impatience.

He stood frozen, until Stark doubled back and pulled him to the side, out of the worst crush of the pedestrians. "Little crowded for you?"

He nodded. "A moment - please. I'll acclimate. It's just I've been..."

"Fair enough. I thought the subway would be more incognito than my car, but okay: we'll take a cab instead." He stepped out into the street and waved until a taxi stopped. "Bambi? Get in."

Loki did as he was told. The relative quiet of the cab was a relief, but the air inside was even less fresh than the air in Stark Tower and he wanted – desperately – to feel wind on his face.

He pressed his hand to the glass. "Does this open?" He couldn't look Stark in the face – couldn't ask permission of him, for a thing as simple as air.

"Dude, it's freezing," Stark complained – but he was already leaning over, over Loki's lap, reaching to one of the small buttons in the door.

The window lowered just a crack, but even that was enough to send a powerful stream of air over him, stinging his eyes, mussing his hair.

He found the button himself and opened it more. It was cold, but it was worth it. The noise was much more manageable inside the vehicle than it had been on the street, the smells were new, and the wind was glorious. He closed his eyes and just basked in it.

"Uh– Scuse me." Stark was addressing the driver. "We're going to twentieth and seventh – but take the West Side Highway. My friend likes the speed."

My friend. Loki registered that but was much too busy enjoying the air to feel bitter. He opened his eyes every now and again to look at the city, but mostly the air was enough.

All too soon the ride was over. Stark did something with the machinery embedded in the vehicle (which did not seem to be as sensitive as his machinery of his home; it responded only to touch and ignored his muttered curses and commands), and then opened his door. "Follow me."

He obeyed. This street was marginally quieter than the one outside Stark's tower – or perhaps he was just getting used to the noise? – and it sported a few small sickly trees. "Uh... here we are." Stark nodded towards a plain building in poor repair, with no clue as to its contents besides a window display of mannequins wearing some sort of black plastic clothing. "In we go. Just follow my lead, okay?"

He nodded.

"Oh, and uh..." Stark paused with his hand on the door. Laughed. "In this store – and this store only – it's appropriate for you to call me Master. Okay? I'll explain later."

Loki had no idea what was so damned funny about the idea, but as they were here to discuss punishment he thought it a bad time to question orders. He nodded and followed his master inside.

The store was terrifying. It was whips and chains and rods and masks, cages and machines, gags and shackles, phalluses of impossible proportions. Everything was black and red and silver, dimly lit, and in the distance Loki could hear faint high whimpers of pain.

He swallowed. Despite himself he stuck a little closer to his keeper.

"Can I help you?" chirped a little mortal female from behind the counter. Her hair was black and purple, her eyes painted. She had an enormous ring through her nose, like a bull.

"Hi. Cool," Stark observed, nodding at her. "How would you like that, Bambi? A facial piercing every time you annoy me." He was laughing. "No? Fine. Okay, well, what we're here for is discipline. My slave needs something to get his ass beat with. It's for punishment, so I want something that hurts - no feathers and furry handcuffs crap. But we're new to this, so, it should be something easy to use. I.e. no whips, nothing I'll accidentally put an eye out with. Other than that I'll trust your judgment."

Loki was watching the mortal carefully. She looked once at him, considering, and then nodded. "Let me get you a paddle, okay?" She hopped from her stool and beckoned. They followed her through the store... towards where the torture noises were coming from. "Oh – there's a demo in back today," she said, waving vaguely towards it. "E-stim. If you guys are interested."

Loki stole a glance and Stark seemed as lost as he was. "Uh, no, we're fine, thanks. Just the paddle."

"Okay. What do you think of this one?" She selected one from a wall of implements and Loki did his best not to look around, not to remember. Nothing here looked as vicious as the tools in Asgard, but then, here he was so weak...

He remembered the dull shock of a punch to the ribs. The yellowish bruises, still marking him after days of-

"Hey. Reindeer Games." Stark jostled him. "You with me?"

He nodded. Then, remembering his instructions, said: "Yes, master."

The girl smiled at him, but flirted in Stark's direction. "On a scale of fragile to average to indestructible, where would you put him?"

"Indestructible, definitely. I've tried."

"Great. Then take this one - it can get pretty intense. Even the side without the studs."

Tony watched his charge perk up at the mention of studs. And not in a good way – his forehead creased, and his slow labored breathing became even slower.

Tony realized it with a twist in his stomach: Loki was fighting an actual, honest-to-god freakout. It took him a second to connect the dots, to remember the bruises Loki had been wearing when he first showed up, the cowering he had done when he thought Tony was angry.

He was really, seriously scared of being beaten up.

Not that Tony didn't want him to fear punishment, but there was a difference between fear and fear. He suddenly needed Loki to know that this really didn't merit the latter.

"Um. One thing, though," he said. "I should probably know how hardcore the thing is before I use it. Is test-driving okay?" When the girl nodded, he sighed and cracked his knuckles. "Can you do the honors?"

The girl's smile was sunny. "Sure! Lean up against the counter. If you've got a phone or wallet in your pocket, take it out."

Loki was still looking pale and shell-shocked; he didn't even seem to register this latest development. Tony elbowed him. "Enjoy this, cause it's not a sight you're gonna see again." He followed the girl's gesture and braced his hands against the counter.

Then he frowned. "This is cheating," he recognized. "Hold on. And don't worry – I'm decent." He opened his jeans and pushed them down, then resumed position, hands spread and braced.

The air was chilly on his legs – and through his boxers. All of a sudden he felt vulnerable as hell and he knew this was going to hurt.

"Ready?" the girl said.

"Rudolph: you paying attention?" He turned to look over his shoulder.

Loki's face was folded into a deep frown of confusion. Suspicion, even. When Tony arched eyebrows and waited, he at last gave a nod. "Yes, master."

"Okay," Tony said to the girl, "Go for it."

When Stark demanded to see the implement used, Loki was certain they were going to batter him right here, studs and all, punish him for everything he had said and done and failed to do.

But then when the girl started issuing instructions it became apparent that it was Stark himself she intended to beat – and Stark planned to allow it. He even voluntarily stripped some of his clothing off, baring himself, and bent over the counter.

It made no sense. The paddle landed with a harsh CRACK, and Stark gave a short grunt of surprise – and then let out a soft aaahhh through a wide-open mouth. "Whoa," he said a moment later, wriggling. "Damn."

"Again?" the girl asked, cheerful.

"Uh – yeah, sure. Okay." Stark gripped on the counter hard and sucked his breath in. This time he took the blow silently, but Loki could see his buttocks flexing and trembling. "Damn," he said again, after a bit. "All right: one more, third time's the charm."

"And here you go:" She gave a third stroke. Stark tensed again, exhaled long and slow, and then bent to pull up his jeans.

"Intense is right." He zipped and buttoned himself. "And you weren't even hitting that hard. Yeah – it's perfect. Thanks."

Loki could only stare stupidly as Stark paid for the purchase and steered him out onto the street.

In the cab, Tony sat playing with his new toy through its paper bag. Loki seemed to have relaxed a little – he wasn't struggling for breath anymore – but he had yet to say a word.

"Awfully quiet, there, Bambi."

Loki shrugged.

"What's going through your head?"

He expected another shrug. Perhaps a sullen "nothing." Instead, though, Loki looked him full in the face and snapped: "Confusion. There is no explanation for what you just did other than-... other than the one you gave."

"That I wanted to make sure this thing wouldn't really hurt you?" Tony ran his fingers over the studs and tried to move past a sense of guilt. For once in his life, he wasn't being an asshole. "That I wanted to go first so you could chill out and realize it's not a big deal?"

"Yes. All of that." Loki looked highly suspicious. "If you just wanted to see the weapon in action you'd have had the shopkeep demonstrate it on me. But you asked to be struck yourself. Why? You say it's out of concern for my welfare, but..." He trailed off into silence, and then laughed bitterly. "Forgive me, but of course I don't believe that. Nobody volunteers to be beaten for my sake."

Tony sighed. Loki wasn't going to like this, but it had to be said. "I do," he said, "Because unfortunately I no longer have the luxury of not giving a crap about your welfare. You belong to me, remember? You're legally incapable of taking care of yourself – and it's my responsibility to do it for you. Lucky me."

Loki still didn't look convinced.

"Well, look, before I break your brain by being too nice, just listen to this." Tony brandished the bag. "When we get home... yeah." He grinned as Loki got it. "First, because if I have to suffer it so do you, and second, I don't want you worrying with it hanging over your head. Okay? After today you will know exactly what to expect when you piss me off. And then maybe you can take a chill pill. Or twenty."

When they got inside Stark's confidence melted away and he began to look uncomfortable. "Okay, well, fair's fair," he said, mostly to the floor. "Pants off – keep the boxers though, for God's sake – and lean up against the table or the couch or something."

Loki did as he was told. His stomach was knotted up and he had no understanding of why – other than that it had nothing – nothing – to do with the fear of pain.

Stark took the paddle out and hefted it. "Uh... okay. You get three. You ready?"

Loki nodded and looked at his hands.

"Here you go: one." Like his master, he gave a soft grunt on the first stroke; as prepared as he tried to be it still took his breath away. Not so much painful, but... jarring. "Okay? Two." At the second blow he hissed; now it burned. "And, three:" He made noise that last time, a short gasp.

Afterwards Stark threw the paddle down on the couch and patted him easily on the shoulder. "There – all done. Pants up and let's talk a second. Sit."

Stark was gesturing to the couch, so Loki zipped his jeans and sat down on it.

The sitting brought an unexpected twinge, which must have shown on his face because Stark snickered at him. "Little tender?"

"In the dungeons of Asgard it was a good day for me if no bones were broken," he said stiffly. Almost proudly. He knew the tone was absurd but he couldn't soften it. "This was nothing by comparison."

Stark grew more serious. "Okay. So tell me how it was - how it felt."

"Mildly unpleasant, I suppose," he reported. "It stung."

Stark waved that off. "I know what it feels like physically. That's not what I meant." He waited.

Loki drew himself up: whatever he was made to say or do, he would at least do with dignity. "It felt humiliating and ridiculous," he said. Steady. "No doubt exactly as you intended."

Stark was quiet a moment. "What I intend," he said at last, "Is for you to stop walking on eggshells. Not that I want you back to your dickish old self or anything, but it's safe to be, you know, normal around me. Okay?"

Loki nodded as if he believed; Stark would be insulted otherwise.

"For example," Stark went on. "My name. I'm sure it's considered disrespectful where you come from for, uh, people in your situation to use first names with people in mine. But. I don't give a crap about that kind of thing. Call me Tony, call me Stark, call me Man of Iron if you really have to. Call me whatever you want, because if you talk to me in some way that I find offensive, the worst that's going to happen is a couple of swats with the paddle. Clear?"

Hmm. Unlike the vague blanket reassurances Stark had been mouthing over the last few weeks, this promise at least he might be able to test. If he could summon up the courage from somewhere.

"Same goes for any inappropriate or annoying behavior," Stark insisted. "This is the rule, so listen good: unless you're trying to do something actually harmful, a spanking is all you ever have to be afraid of from me, period. I promise. Okay?"

He nodded again. Thoughtfully, this time.

TBC.

Next chapter will be up day after tomorrow. It's shorter than this one; most of what I have is in chunks of 1500 words or so.

So...let me know what you think!