OK so i know i said i was going to do the final fight soon and I WILL i promise, just one more chapter (because i keep getting ideas and then writing more I'm sorry). Also, so, um WARNING thing for spanking of an adult? Dub con? I dunno people always put a warning for that but it's not like sexual... or really explicit... or really even LIKE that so... But anyway I'm putting it there because I'm paranoid and try to put warnings on everything just in case (if i ever don't for something that bothers you, please let me know and I will in the future) OK, here you go :)

Barry stared back at Oliver.

"No."

"Barry –"

"You can't be serious."

Oliver sighed. "It's just –"

"That's ridiculous."

"It's to –"

"I'm not doing that."

"Barry –"

"That's absolutely ridiculous," he said, waving his arms, his face incredulous, "how is that even supposed to work? That won't – that won't hurt enough."

"And you're complaining about that?" Oliver asked, deadpan.

"No – but – that's – that's just ridiculous!"

"Don't be so quick to think it won't be painful."

"That's not making it better!" Barry yelled.

"Barry," Oliver said, bringing a hand up to his forehead, "I am trying to find something that won't leave you in a panic attack, so unless you have a better ide-"

"You are not spanking me!" Barry yelled, his face entirely red. "That is not happening – that's – that's –"

"If it makes you feel better," Oliver said, "you'd leave your pants on."

"That does not make me feel better!" Barry laced his hands behind his head, paced in circles, his ears bright red. "This is just ludicrous," he ranted. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. Why would you even think I would do this? Why would you even suggest it? It's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, you might have voiced that opinion."

"You go from knives and a blow torch to this?"

"You're terrified of the blow torch and you'll bleed out if I use the knives."

"How do you think this will even work – you're the one who keeps saying I have to do more pain – how are you going to make it that painful – I mean, unless I'm missing something here, I'm pretty sure you don't get blow torch pain from a spanking."

"Well, my first thought was to use a whip but I thought that might be a bit traumatic for you."

Barry's face paled. "You were going to whip me?"

"Well, if you really don't want to do this, then I still could. I've got one."

"Why do you even hav- you know what, nevermind – no, no I am not doing that either."

"You've gotta pick something, Barry."

Barry threw up his hands. "OK, one, you're not spanking me, because that's just absolutely ridiculous, and it wouldn't work anyway, and two, you're not whipping me, because this isn't the eighteen hundreds and that's so – so –"

"Painful?"

"No – that's so medieval, or – or awful, or just inhuman."

Oliver sighed. "I thought maybe we could switch it up a little, and let you do something less painful, and focus more on your willpower instead of your pain tolerance for a day. But if you really want to, we can do the shots again instead. That's your final choice though. Spanking – which, if you had let me finish, would involve something more akin to whipping, but not to the extent you're thinking of," he said quickly as Barry's mouth opened. "or, we could do a real full out tie you to a post whipping, or we can do the shots. Shots on the table, though, Barry. No breaks."

"That's," he said, stammering, "that's not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"You haven't made me go on the table in over a week."

"And how is that not fair?"

"You're using it against me."

"Barry," Oliver said, "I don't know what to tell you. If you really can't get over you're pride enough to let me do what I originally came up with, then those are you're two options. Whipping, or shots. You're decision."

"What if I won't do any of them?" Barry asked, crossing his arms.

Oliver's teeth set. "Then you've gone through an awful lot of pain for nothing."

"You're not killing him."

"I'm not killing him."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I'm not giving you another offer," Oliver said, "but I'm not going to make you do anything either. You give up now and you're just wasting time."

Barry clenched his teeth. "Give me another option."

"I gave you three. That's two more than I should."

"You gave me one ridiculous one, one awful one, and one you know I can't do."

"You can. If it's really going to bother you that much, then you can pick the shots."

"But I can't," he said, throwing down his hands, "its – it's too much – that – I can't do that."

"Then maybe we really do need to do some more shots."

Barry's face paled again. "No – Oliver, I said I can't because I can't."

"You can," Oliver said.

"No," Barry said, and he was taking a step back.

"Easy," Oliver said, putting a hand out. "Relax. You know I won't make you do anything you don't agree to first, so just relax."

Barry shuddered, angry at himself for getting panicked so easily and angry at Oliver for putting him in this situation.

"Give me another option."

"You're not getting one, Barry," Oliver said, shaking his head, "You pick one of those."

Barry yelled in frustration, turning around and then practically stomping back. "Fine," he said, practically spat the word, "the spanking then, fine." His ears burned and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. This was ridiculous, this whole thing was ridiculous, it was stupid, absolutely stupid. And Felicity had stayed back this time, and he had wondered about it when he first walked in, but now he knew why – Oliver had set this up, had known he would react this way, had purposefully told her to stay, had known that it was a stupid, embarrassing, ridiculous idea.

"Over here," Oliver said, and Barry followed him over to a table, scowling the whole way. "Now lean over," he said, gesturing to the table.

Barry's face burned and he leaned over the table, folded his arms and hid his face in them, wanted to disappear into the table.

"This is stupid," he said again, his voice muffled.

Oliver sighed. "Whether you believe it or not, this isn't exactly fun for me either."

"You're a sadist," Barry said.

Oliver sighed again, resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"You probably get off on this," Barry said.

"You're not my type," Oliver said back. He picked up a hollow rod he had brought, and placed a hand on Barry's back. "Are you ready?"

"Is that what you say to a– ow!"

"Whoops," Oliver said, "slipped. You ready now?"

"Fuck!"

"Barry?"

"Shit, Oliver, that hurt."

"Yeah, that's sort of the point."

Barry groaned, but Oliver could hear the familiar note of dread underneath it, and his voice softened. "I can start out a little slower," he said.

"Fine," Barry said, his voice quieter.

"I'm going to start now."

"OK."

Oliver brought the rod back and let it smack down. Barry winced and flinched a little at first, then he got used to it. It wasn't pleasant, but compared to the burns or the shots it wasn't bad. Then Oliver picked it up a little, and Barry started to wince again. The hits hurt, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was starting to realize that maybe this was going to be just as painful as the other sessions.

They had been at it for almost a half hour before Barry started to squirm. Oliver was sweating, still not hitting as hard as he could, but enough to make it very uncomfortable for Barry. He healed fast, so at first the hits didn't really accumulate much, but by now Oliver was hitting hard enough and had been for long enough that Barry's body didn't have time to heal, and the accumulation of hits was starting to really hurt.

Barry let out a harsh breath, and he screwed his eyes shut. "Oliver," he said. Another hit came down and he winced, moving his hips a little. He couldn't help it, he kept trying to get out of the way, to move enough that Oliver would hit somewhere else, but he kept going in the same exact spot and it hurt.

"You're doing good, Barry," Oliver said.

Barry cringed. "Oliver," Barry said again, flinching at the sound of the rod being brought up, "think – ah – maybe, maybe a little less?"

Oliver couldn't help smiling. "I thought you said this couldn't possibly be enough pain to do anything?"

Barry flinched again at another hit. "OK, I might have been wrong," he said, wincing again, jerking when the rod came down. He pushed his forehead against the table, clenching his teeth to keep in a yell that kept bubbling up on his lips. His voice got a little more desperate. "OK, really wrong."

"We're working on your endurance."

"My what?"

"You've gotten a lot better at getting through that first shock of pain," Oliver said, "with the burns especially – but you still can't work through it very well."

Barry turned his head sharply to the side. "This really hurts," he said, his voice escalating a little bit.

"I know," Oliver said, "but you can get through it."

"No," Barry said, clenching his teeth, shifting and fidgeting more, "no, I don't really think I can."

"Relax, Barry," Oliver said, moving the hand that was still against his back soothingly.

"Ehmmm!" Barry let out a muffled yell, squeezing his eyes shut. He panted, crying out at the next hit. They were getting harder. "Oliver," Barry said desperately, "don't – it – ah, ow, ow, shit, Oliver, please. Don't – not harder, come on, Oliver – agh! Ow – oooww, O-Oliver, come on, please."

"You're doing fine," Oliver said, "just relax."

"It hurts!" he said, trying to move upwards, to stand back up, but Oliver's hand was firm on his back. He cried out again, whimpered at the next. "Oliver, don't, it really hurts."

"It's going to hurt, Barry," Oliver said, moving his hand in a circle over Barry's back once he stopped trying to stand up. He didn't stop, and he didn't let up, kept going at the gradually increasing power that he had already started.

Barry yelled through his teeth. His arms shook, but he resigned himself for the moment, riding out the pain and trying to stop his body from tensing up too much, just trying to get through it.

"That's it," Oliver said.

He was good for another five minutes, and then Oliver was hitting hard, very hard, and Barry was shaking, sure he was covered in bruises, sure that even with his healing there was no way he would be sitting down anytime soon. His body ached with the pain and tears were forming in his eyes again, and whatever control he had started to break, and he was squirming again, fidgeting all over the place, flinching and gasping until he was jerking away, moving up, moving sideways.

"Barry," Oliver said, "you need to hold still."

"Oliver," Barry said, and his voice was stained, too high. "It – too much, too much, please. Hurts." He whimpered again at another hit, made an awful sound.

"I know, Bar, you're doing good."

"Please stop. Please, I get it, it hurts, I have to keep going, please just stop."

"You've got a bit longer, Bar, but you're doing good."

"No," Barry said, and he started to cry, the tears dripping down his face, breath coming in hiccupping gasps, "O-Oliver, please."

"I know, Bar, but you have to keep going."

Barry struggled, pushed against him. He tried to reach back with his hands and Oliver grabbed his wrist.

"Barry," he said, "If you don't stop moving, I'm going to secure down your wrists and ankles.

"No," he said, "No, don't – don't."

"Then you have to stop moving, Bar," he said, as gently as he could.

Barry shook. "I can't – it hurts – I'm sorry, please stop."

He let go of Barry's wrist, moved it back underneath his head, and then rubbed his back gently. "You can do it."

He kept going, and Barry kept crying, yelling out and squirming, but he didn't try and struggle anymore, didn't want to get tied down.

"Oliver, stop," Barry cried, was crying hard now. "It hurts, Oliver, you're going to break something."

"I'm not going to break any bones, Barry," Oliver said.

"This isn't spanking, you're just beating me," Barry cried.

"I told you it was going to be like this, Bar," Oliver said, "just breathe."

"Please stop," Barry said, "I'll do the shots – please, something – just, just a few minutes, please."

"Not yet, Bar."

"Come on, O-Oliver please," Barry said, "please, it hurts – it hurts so much, please stop – just a b-break, j-just – s-stop – it's on the same spot, please, it hurts – j-just move, it hurts."

"You're doing fine, Barry," Oliver said, "just relax."

Barry started to squirm again, and Oliver pressed down on his back, kept going. "O-Oli- ow, agh, Oliver, I can't do this!"

"You can, Bar. You are. You're doing good."

"No – no, stop," Barry cried, "fuck, it hurts, Oliver, it fucking hurts!"

"It's going to hurt, Barry."

"Not this much," Barry said, "Not for this long – you've never made me go this long, it's not fair, it's no- owwww, shit, ow, nooo, no, stop – sto-op, it hu-urts." His plea deteriorated into desperate sobbing as the hits got harder. He started struggling again, forgetting about Oliver's promise, just trying to get away from the stinging, burning pain, and he soon found his wrists tied down, but he hardly stopped to notice, was screaming and crying and begging Oliver to stop because it hurt so much that everything else had gone white around him, blank. And when Oliver finally stopped he didn't say anything, was just left panting, leaning over the table, still in enough pain that the absence of more hits only served to highlight the ache and burn already covering his ass.

"Easy," Oliver said, rubbing his back as he untied his wrists, "you're done. You're OK."

Barry trembled, not getting up. He didn't want to move, was sure it would only make the pain worse, and Oliver didn't tell him to get up, just kept rubbing his back until he finally stood up straight, wiping the back of his wrist across his face.

"That fucking hurt," he said hoarsely, his voice rasping from crying and yelling.

"It was going to hurt," Oliver said, "but it's over now."

"Still hurts," Barry said, tentatively going to rub his butt with one hand, and hissing when even the slightest touch made it flare up with pain again.

"You'll heal," Oliver said, "it won't hurt for long. How about we go have you lie down." He reached to put a hand on Barry's shoulder and Barry flinched. Oliver drew back, and then carefully reached out again, slower this time. Barry was tense, walking with him stiffly. He led Barry into the same room as before, but when Felicity walked over, from down the hall, he shook his head, and she stopped, confused, but backed away again. Barry's muscles were still tense under his hand and the kid was leaning away from him, ducking and flinching at any sudden move he made. He wasn't leaving him with Felicity like this.

"Just lie down on your stomach," Oliver said, when Barry hesitated in front of the couch. Barry carefully lowered himself down, and Oliver dragged over a chair, as close to the couch as it would get, so that he could put his hand on Barry's back, which, once again, caused him to flinch away.

"Barry," he said gently, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Barry huffed, but his face was tinged a little red, and he hid his face in his arms again, burying it.

"Do you want to sleep?"

Barry hesitated, went tense, and then shook his head.

"Want to talk?"

No hesitation there. He shook his head.

"I'm just going to stay here then," Oliver said, "and you let me know if you want anything." Oliver was rubbing smooth circles over his back, and Barry kept fidgeting, and Oliver knew it must still hurt pretty badly. Barry started shaking maybe ten minutes later, and Oliver heard sniffing, harsh breaths.

"Barry?" he said softly. Barry didn't respond and Oliver stopped rubbing his back to reach for his arm. "Hey," he said, "Barry, what's wrong?"

Barry went tense and shrugged him off.

"Just leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Barry."

"I don't wanna talk to you."

"Sorry, I'm all you've got right now."

"Fuck off, Oliver, I'm not kidding," Barry said, leaning up just enough for Oliver to get a glance at his angry face.

"Barry," Oliver said, gentler. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You beat me with a stick, that's what's wrong."

Oliver sighed. "Barry."

"I don't want to talk to anyone," Barry said, his teeth gritted.

"Barry, please, I'm trying to help you."

And suddenly Barry was standing and Oliver jumped. He had his hands clenched, face red and angry. "I don't want to talk," Barry said, "I – I want to be alone." He turned and started to walk away but Oliver grabbed his arm. Barry tensed up again, trying to shake him off, teeth clenched tightly.

"Barry, you're upset, talk to me," Oliver said.

"You're not listening to me," Barry said, jerking his arm away, "I don't – I need to be alone – I don't want to be around anyone."

"What's going on," Oliver said, "you usually don't want to be alone."

"Well I do, OK?" Barry said.

Oliver blinked at him. "If this is really just about me, and you really need to talk to someone else instead, I'll go get Felicity."

"I don't need to talk to anyone," Barry said, "I don't want to talk to Felicity – I don't want to talk to anyone – just – just go."

"Can't do that, Barry."

"Leave me alone!" Barry yelled, and then he looked like he was about to run and Oliver grabbed his arm again, but this time when Barry pulled away Oliver pulled back and wrapped him in a hug and then Barry was crying hot angry tears and shaking.

"It's OK," Oliver said softly, rubbing his back. "It's OK, Barry."

"Please," Barry said, and he was shaking, trembling, "please, I need – I need – to be alone, please, Oliver, I don't – I can't do this – just go, please, go – I can't – please leave me alone, please, please leave me alone."

"Barry, I'm not going to hurt you," Oliver said softly.

"Yes you are."

And Oliver's stomach dropped and his hands clenched because there was so much pain there.

"I'm not, Barry. I'm not, I promise. We're not training. We're out of the room, I'm not, I promise."

Barry shook his head, and then he was pulling away, and he was pacing, head in his hands, shaking.

"Don't," Barry said when Oliver tried to reach for him, "just – don't – don't, I need to think."

Oliver sat on the couch near him instead, hoping that his stationary position would make Barry feel safer, make him seem less threatening, listening to Barry's harsh breaths and sniffs.

"Barry," he said tentatively.

"No."

"Barry –"

"Don't – don't touch me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again.

"I know," Barry said, so quietly Oliver almost didn't hear him, but he kept pacing in circles, wiping his hands down his face and at his eyes, moving nervously, anxiously, and still wincing every once in a while.

"Barry, I really think you should rest a little," Oliver said, keeping his tone low and even, "come lie down."

He shook his head, but Oliver could see some of the tension running out of his shoulders, some of the nervous energy being worked off.

And then suddenly Barry was walking out of the room, not running, but he was gone before Oliver could stop him, and then Oliver ran into the hallway to see the bathroom door slamming shut.

Oliver walked over to it carefully. He could hear Barry breathing heavy on the other side. He knocked lightly.

"Barry?"

He didn't get an answer. On the other side Barry had slid down against the wall, ignoring the pain in his backside when he did so, head in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest, and shaking, but the lock on the door felt good, and the room was small, and somehow that helped, and he needed the quiet.

"Barry?" Oliver said again.

Barry didn't say anything, wasn't listening, was just breathing, trying to calm himself down enough to think. Everything was rolling and he had the undeniable instinct to get away, to be by himself, where no one could touch him, no one could hurt him. He wanted to be alone.

"Barry I'm going to break down the door."

"Don't."

Oliver paused. "Barry, what's wrong?"

There was a muffled reply.

"I can't hear you, Barry."

"Wanna be alone."

"Barry, I really don't want you to be alone right now," Oliver said, "you're upset, I know, talk to me, let me help."

There was another pause. "I'm scared," Barry said, Oliver just catching the words through the door.

"It's OK, Barry."

"I'm too nervous – I feel – I feel claustrophobic around you."

"I can get Felicity."

"Around anyone."

Oliver paused.

"I'll give you ten minutes."

Barry opened his eyes wide behind the door, shocked. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes and then I'm coming to get you."

Barry didn't say anything. He sat in silence instead, calming himself down, getting a grip on himself again.

"Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

Barry didn't say anything, but he let out a long breath. "Just checking," he said, softly again, so Oliver barely heard.

"Not going anywhere, kid."

Barry leaned his head back against the wall and breathed. And he knew Oliver was right outside waiting for him, but the door was closed and locked and somehow that gave him the security he needed to calm down, to know that he had his space, that no one was coming in, that he was blocked off and safe, but that he wasn't alone either, that Oliver was right there waiting – not yelling, not badgering him anymore, not intruding, but that he would be there when he was ready. When the ten minutes were up Oliver just rapped lightly against the door again, and then Barry got up and walked out. He went back to the room and laid down on his stomach, and Oliver went back to the seat, and started rubbing his back again, just like he had before.

"I got nervous," Barry said softly.

"Huh?"

"Before. I got nervous. I dunno. It still hurt. It usually goes away faster than that. I got upset, and then, I dunno, I got nervous too."

"It's alright now."

"I know," Barry said, almost defensively.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Barry," Oliver all but burst out. He wasn't sure if he was saying it for Barry's benefit or his own now, just needed Barry to know, needed to get that hurt out of his voice and his eyes.

"I know," Barry said again, quieter.

"I would never hurt you outside of training."

Barry nodded.

"I need you to know that, Barry."

"I do," he mumbled.

Oliver paused. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I'm sorry you have to do this. I'm sorry you're hurting and I'm sorry you're getting anxious and upset and so stressed because of it. It will be alright. I promise."

And Barry didn't say anything. It will be alright. He promised.

Yayyyy so you should review and thank you for reading! :)