When the food was gone Ryan motioned to the side, "Kitten, why don't you take our trays up, atta boy."

Keller looked to Beecher with a puppy dog look, "Wanna bring ours up to baby?"

He wrinkled his nose, "I don't have to."

"No, you don't, but I'd appreciate it."

He grabbed them, "Fine but I wouldn't have to if I didn't want to."

The two headed towards the tray deposit, talking quietly.  Ryan nodded towards them, "What's that about?"

Keller smiled, "Its complicated, we're together but he's not my prag.  He does what I say though, well, sometimes, kinda."  He shrugged, "But it works for us."  He leaned in close to O'Reily, "But it won't work for you."

He frowned at him, "What are you talking about?"

"You and Alvarez, you're treating him more like you're his boyfriend than his owner."

"How so?"

"Every time you show your power, you hide it from others, you have to show everyone whose boss, I mean it sucks but no one ever questioned what Beecher's place was with Schillinger.  You get what I mean?"

His anger was showing, "So what?  You think I should have him lick my boots, maybe tattoo a shamrock on his ass?"

The muscles tightened along Keller's arms as he repressed a return anger.  He spoke through clenched teeth, "You know that's not what I meant, no one deserves that, and I wouldn't say that kinda crap that happened to Toby was good.  But the fact remains – Alvarez has got a couple of screws loose – unless you show that you got him tamed, you're gonna look weak."

O'Reily took a deep breathe before talking, "Alright, I'll take it up a notch, I'll stop shielding him – alright?"

Keller tilted his head as he looked at him hard, "O'Reily – are you controlling him or pretending to?"

"I'm controlling him."

"Doesn't seem like it," he sneered.

"Watch me," he nearly growled and headed in the direction of the two.  Keller followed, a grim smile on his face.  He didn't want to set O'Reily off on Alvarez but as him and Beecher had talked about, it had to be done, for both their sakes.

Miguel turned around, an easy smile on his face and was knocked flat on his ass.  O'Reily glared down at him, "Come on prag, get your ass up and moving.  Now."  He left, without looking back.

Beecher moved to help him up but Chris grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him away.

"Let go of me."

"No Toby, just keep walking got it."  He gave him a small shove and Beecher glared at him but nodded and stomped off.  Chris sighed and rolled his eyes and followed him quickly out of the cafeteria, "Hey – Tobe – come on."

Miguel glanced around him in confusion and embarrassment as he climbed to his feet.  He moved in to a sprint to catch up.  "Hey – Ryan."

He stopped dead and Miguel ran into him, "You better fucking call me sir and walk behind me.  Got it?"  He turned around and kept going before Miguel could answer him.

"Yes, Ry- S-sir."  He slowed down and followed a few steps behind, his head down.  O'Reily headed towards the common room and sat down.

"Go do my laundry and after that maybe you can watch TV.  Go on, it's not going to do itself."

Miguel slowly put the clothes in the washer and then leaned against it, hunching his shoulders protectively.  He watched the door and found himself happy to see Beecher appear with his own laundry.

"Laundry duty, huh?"

Miguel shrugged and then took a step back suddenly when Beecher moved close, "Chill Alvarez, just moving to the washers, no need to jump."

They worked silently for a few minutes and then, "Has he fucked you yet?"

"Why don't you just-"

"Fuck off?  The phrase is getting old Alvarez."

"Well it's not my fault – I just wanted-"

"Alvarez – you need to get a lot less defensive."

"Why cause you are?"

"No cause I know Ryan likes his girls friendly."

He heard him leave and Beecher shook his head, he wasn't so sure Alvarez could handle this.

An hour and a half later Beecher stopped by Ryan's room with his laundry, "Here's your laundry, your boy got angry and took off."

Beecher barely got out of the way as O'Reily took off to find him.  He found him under the stairs – on his knees.  "What the fuck?"  Standing above him was a petty drug dealer.  He grabbed Alvarez by the back of the shirt and knocked him on his ass.  He looked to the dealer who looked afraid, "What was he getting?"

"A- A joint."

He snatched it form the guy, "You're lucky I'm not gonna do more to you for dealing on my turf with my property.  Now get gone."

With the other gone he looked down at Alvarez and wished the others had long enough hair that he could pull it.  "Get up."

"O'Reily."

"You call me sir.  Which guard is on duty?"

"Murphy."

"Perfect.  Get back on your knees."

"But Ryan-"

He hit him with a closed fist making his head snap back.  "It's sir, bitch and don't be complaining – you just came from your knees."

Alvarez did as he was told – a pitiful look on his face.  "Close your eyes, hands behind you back."  He did it.  "Now open your mouth."  There was a slight hesitation and then he did.  "Good girl."

He unbuckled his pants – he wasn't hard and he wasn't in the mood so he knew it would be a little difficult.  He worked on himself until he was almost full and shoved into his mouth without any warning.

"Don't you move your fuckin hands." He put one hand on the back of Alvarez's head to control his movement even more.

He heard Alvarez gag as he thrust into his mouth, and it didn't bother him in the least.  He was beyond pissed, and he also realized that what the others was saying was true if Alvarez thought he could take off and suck someone's dick for a joint.  Or if a drug dealer as small as that one could think he could use his property.

"You're gonna learn your fucking place."  He felt himself about to cum and pulled out of Alvarez's mouth and held his head still.  He realized what Ryan was gonna do, Ryan could tell cause Alvarez flinched.  He stroked himself a few times before coming on his face.

He angrily put himself away.  "Get up," He raised his hand – "No.  You can wash it off in our pod."

 "But sir-"

"Now- it wasn't a request."

"Yes, sir."  He got up, cum covering his mouth and chin.  Ryan stopped him before he left from under the stairs.  "Lick your lips."

He did without hesitation, now in the mindset of pleasing Ryan.  "Good, no move it, I'll be there in a minute."  Ryan walked away without even looking back.  Alvarez ducked his head, hurrying to wash up – to be away from everybody.  In his pod he quickly washed his face off with soap and water and then pulled his shirt off as it had cum on it.

"Oh, A strip show."

"Guerra, what the fuck do you want?"

"Interesting choice of words."  He moved into the pod, "Where's your owner, huh?"

"O'Reily's around – just outside."

"Well he'll be able to stop me then, won't he?"

He hit him across the jaw with his fist, making Alvarez stumble.  The left hook knocked him off his feet.  He kicked him in the side and then leaned down, "Look at you – a fuckin maricon, a prag."

He went to hit him again but O'Reily pulled him off.  Alvarez sat up and watched Ryan repeatedly hit Guerra.  He threw him on the ground and then kicked him hard.  He continued to beat him until the guards pulled him off and dragged him to McManus's office as he screamed, "That's what happens to anybody that fuckin touches what's mine!"

McManus sighed as he looked at O'Reily, "You should be sent to the hole."

"He attacked me first McManus."

"He attacked you?"

"Yea."

"Guards say he attacked Miguel."

Ryan hesitated and then smirked, "Fine, he attacked my property first – you know how this works McManus."

"That alone could get you put in the hole – you think you're helping yourself?"

"Gonna leave Miguel all unprotected?"

"I'll let you off this time Ryan – but only thing time."

"Thanks McManus."

He strutted out, wondering if McManus realized how much of a tool he was.  He headed to his pod, as his men informed him that Guerra was off to the infirmary.  "Good.  I'm heading to my pod."  He had a brief worry about what their response to him having a prag might be – but it actually gave their morale a boost to have the former Latino leader as an Irish prag.

He headed in and saw Miguel curled up on the bottom bunk – looking scared.  He put his hand on his shoulder and he jumped. "Ry-ryan!"  He flinched, "Sorry, sir."  

"Are you okay?  Did he hurt you?"

"You're not in the hole?"

"No – are you okay?"

"Please don't be mad at me sir."

Ryan stopped and looked at him, he had a shiner and the whole side of his jaw was bruised and swollen.  "Kitten – I'm not mad – are you okay?"    

"Just a little bruised sir."

"He got sent to the infirmary.  I told you I would take care of you, I was only a little late."

"I got shanked the first day I was in Oz."

"Yea – I heard."

"I haven't stopped being afraid since."

"Yea well, what?"

He spoke quieter, "I've been scared since."

Ryan looked at him seriously – realizing all the interactions – everything Miguel had done – he had done in fear.  It was good to be wary in prison, but fear was a whole different thing.  "You realize what you're saying?"  He sat down on the bed next to him.

He looked at Ryan's chest, not looking him in the eyes – "All the time Ryan – I'm scared, of being on my own or getting killed, getting shanked again, getting raped.  All the time Ryan, I can't handle it anymore."  He looked down at his hands, "I'm starting to feel safe here, with you, but if you're gonna drop me like Schillinger did with Beecher – I won't make that."

O'Reily couldn't help the smirk, "What, you asking me to go steady?"  He laughed quietly at his own joke.

"Sir?"

Ryan ran his hand over Miguel's barely there hair, "Don't' worry Miguel – I'm gonna be here for a long time – no reason its not with you under me."  He almost winced at the prag reference, but Miguel's place had to be maintained and reinforced.

Miguel didn't really react – his body showing reluctance with the answer, "Yes sir."

He didn't look convinced, "You want a more permanent decision Miguel?  Maybe a tattoo on your pretty little ass?"  He had only been kidding around but Miguel's reaction was very positive.

"Really?"

Ryan looked at him for a moment, "You want a tattoo Miguel?"

He must have realized Ryan hadn't been serious because his face turned red, "Of- of course not."

"You do, you know you can't go back from something like that."

"Like I can anyways.  I mean, look at Peter Schibetta, I don't want to end up in the pysch ward."

"Alright then Miguel, we'll get you a tattoo.  A fucking shamrock on your ass, alright?"

"Irish property?"

"Yes, but my property mostly.  All mine."  Suddenly he grabbed the back of Miguel's neck, "My fucking property, mine."

He tensed a little at the abrupt movement, flinching back.  "Yes sir, your property sir."

"You should have a tattoo – a brand.  Make sure everyone knows who owns you."

"Okay O'Reily."  He was a little nervous by the sudden change in attitude – the sudden intensity.

"Tonight – I will tonight and then, then I'll make you mine for real.  Understand?"

He looked at him, and for the sake of his dignity he refused to acknowledge the warm safe feeling in his stomach, or the joy he felt at Ryan's possessive words.  "Yes sir."

Ryan kissed him suddenly and harshly, nearly splitting his lip open against his own teeth.  He quickly opened his mouth to allow Ryan's tongue in.  Ryan took full control of the kiss and Miguel relaxed his muscles, giving full control over.  After a few moments Ryan pulled away and grabbed him by the chin.  "I gotta go get stuff for tonight – stay nearby either the Irish or Beecher and Chris.  I don't want you getting hurt."

"Yes sir, where is Beecher?"

"I think he's upstairs, want me to bring you there?"

Two weeks ago he was a boss – he gave orders – he had been a bad ass and now... "Yea."

"Alright."  He waited for Miguel to leave the pod and the followed him out.  He walked across the floor his hand on the back of Miguel's neck possessively.  When they got to the other's pod Chris was gone – but Beecher was there putting away the laundry.

"Beecher, I have some things to do so I'm gonna leave him here.  Okay?"

"Sure O'Reily."

"Thanks Beecher, where's Keller?"

He wrinkled his nose, "Somewhere away from me."

"Trouble in paradise?"

Beecher glared at him and he smirked back before he left.  He headed back down and saw Chris playing cards.  "What's wrong with Beecher?"

He snorted, "I dunno, he's pmsing or something."

"Well, I left Alvarez up there with him, they can't bitch to each other."

"I'll keep an eye on them – I would anyways – you know how Beecher can get."

"Okay, thanks.  I'll be back."

Miguel stood just inside the doorway quietly, "Sorry about earlier in the laundry room."

He glanced at him and gave him a half feral smirk.  "Remember when Schillinger made me wear make-up and you called me a maricon?"

He looked down, "Sorry."

Beecher looked at him, "Is your jaw okay?"

He put his hand to his jaw absently.  "It's a little sore."  He looked in the mirror and was shocked to see how badly it looked; he looked like somebody that was beaten down.  He moved slowly into the room – sitting on the bottom bunk, "Can, can I ask you a question?"

"I guess."

"The – the swastika on you – how bad did it hurt?"

"You have tattoos Miguel."

"I didn't get them in prison – or on my ass."

"Why do you even need to know?  It's not like you're getting one."  He laughed – Miguel didn't.  "Right Miguel?"  He was looking at his hands, "Alvarez!"

"Maybe."

"He's gonna brand you – you're gonna let him!?"

"Not much choice Beecher."

"There's always a choice – always.  You realize this makes you permanently his property, I mean some even still consider me Aryan property."

"Makes him responsible for everything though."

"You want it, don't you?"

He wouldn't look up, "Of course I don't."  The words lacked conviction though.

Beecher watched him for a few moments, "It hurt a lot.  It will probably be like mine, a brand and not a tattoo, right?"

"I don't know."

"It shouldn't hurt you as much – I'd never gotten a tattoo before and O'Reily will probably be more gentle wit you than Schillinger was with me."

"After the tattoo – he's gonna – we're gonna-"

"After El Cid, I'd hate to be blunt but you should be used to it by now."

"So it never gets better?  It always hurts like that?"

"How long has he been fucking you?"

"About 2 months."

"And it's still as bad?  Does, does he use anything?"

"What do you mean?"

Beecher ducked his head a little, almost embarrassed by the conversation, "Like you know, lube or something."

Alvarez looked up, "No."

Beecher frowned, "Things will be better with O'Reily, you can trust me on that."

He watched him for several moments, "Need help with anything?  I can help."

"I got everything covered, thanks though."

"I'm gonna go, can I go?"

Beecher looked at him, "Why wouldn't you be able to?"
     "I don't know, just, ya know..."

"I understand.  Maybe ask Chris's permission for things – not mine.  Did O'Reily tell you to stay here?"

"He told me to stay near either the Irish, you or Keller."

"So where are you going now?"

"To watch TV."

"With who?"

"I'll ask Timmy to watch it with me."

It bugged Beecher to picture Alvarez begging that little prick to watch TV with him.  "Tell Chris to – tell him I asked him to."

"Alright, thanks Beecher."

He headed down and towards Chris, when he got to the table and sat down in an empty chair.

He glanced at him, "Need something Alvarez?"

He looked around to make sure no one was around, "Wanna go watch TV?"

"Why?"

"O'Reily told me to stay with you, the Irish or Beecher.  Beecher said you would watch TV with me so I didn't have to ask Timmy."

"Yea well, Beecher can blow himself."

He stared at him for a moment in shock, "Wh-what?"

He glanced at him, "I'll go."  They got up and headed for the TV.

"Thanks Keller."

"Is Beecher still angry?"

"I dunno.  He seems a little miffed."

"He's always angry – prissy little bitch."

"What happened?"

His temper flared, "None of your business prag."

He put his hands up, "Sorry, I didn't mean anything."

"Don't worry about it.  Is Sally on?"

O'Reily felt a jolt of panic when he didn't see Alvarez in their cell, but was relieved when he spotted him watching TV with Keller.  He walked into his pod and was immediately followed in by Beecher, "Hey Ryan."

"What's up Beecher?"

"Two days ago in the shower someone made the comment that Schillinger's mark looked good on the livestock."

There was something in his voice and he tensed his body as he looked up at him, "Where's thing going?"

"Don't forget that scar across Schillinger's eye or the extra 10 years he serving.  Don't forget Andy."

"You threatening me Bitcher?"  The moment got tense and Beecher took a step back.

"No, I'm just saying – you take away all their choices and options, even a pampered Harvard lawyer can retaliate – makes me wonder about the Latino street livestock."

"He wants it."

"I know he does.  Just – be careful."