"I don't need any help. All right?"

Fuck that. Did the little motherfucker think he could just dismiss Vern like that?

Well, then...

Vern smiled, feeling the old predatory glee welling up within him.

...O'Reily would just have to learn otherwise. Sure, the kid might be well-connected enough to transfer into Em City, but that wouldn't mean shit if Vern didn't want it to. And his ass was pretty enough that Vern knew the lesson would be highly enjoyable.

Vern wouldn't make his move quite yet. He'd bide his time, find out exactly how tight O'Reily was with the hacks. And then...Vern grinned. And then he would pounce.

***

A few months later

"Hey, O'Reily!" Vern called out to the mick, who was sashaying past Vern's pod in that almost-faggy way he had. Almost, but never quite.

O'Reily stopped mid-strut, turning to face Vern. "Yeah?"

"Gotta minute?"

O'Reily smiled. "Depends on what for," he said, and this time Vern was sure O'Reily was being deliberately seductive. The fucking cocktease.

"Business," said Vern, smiling back. You didn't tease Vern Schillinger and come away with your ass intact, as O'Reily was about to find out. "Why don't you come in here, and we'll talk." It wasn't a question.

But O'Reily answered as if it was, asserting his power to accept or deny as he chose: "Sure." He knew the rules of the game, all right.

Or some of them, anyway.

Vern wouldn't mind teaching him the rest.

O'Reily stepped into Vern's pod, and Vern shut the door behind him, standing between the exit and his prey. He leaned towards O'Reily, noting for the first time that the younger man was taller than him. Lean, lanky. Fuckable. "It's not often," said Vern softly, "that we get folks cute as you in Em City."

O'Reily sharply sucked in his breath. He tried to dodge around Vern to get to the door, but Vern smilingly stopped him, shoving him down onto the bottom bunk and pinning him there. "Get the fuck off me, you scumsucking Nazi faggot---"

"Now, now, sweetpea. That's not very polite, is it?" O'Reily squirmed beneath him, and Vern grinned---this was already getting fun. Sure, he already had Beecher, but another well-trained bitch couldn't hurt. When Vern was done here, he could hand either Beecher or O'Reily to some other member of the Brotherhood...or just keep'em both for himself. "I think I'm going to have to teach you some manners."

O'Reily stared up at him for a second, furious and red-faced---and then looked away, his whole thin body going limp. Like a long skinny noodle. "Look..." His voice was soft now, almost...resigned?

"What is it, prag?"

"Just get it the fuck over with." O'Reily swallowed. "Please."

"Oh, now, that's just so sweet. I love it when you---fuck!" O'Reily suddenly bent his knee, jamming it into Vern's stomach, catching him off guard.

Of course. That's what that whole fucking submission charade had been about, hadn't it. Catching Vern off guard, getting him to stop paying attention. O'Reily's fist caught him on the chin, and Vern jerked backwards.

He was so fucking stupid.

Quickly, so quick that Vern couldn't see how he'd done it, O'Reily flipped them both over so Vern was under him. Shit. Vern tried to struggle, but O'Reily's arms were like wire, thin and inexplicably strong. He was pinned, like it or not. "Listen to me, you Nazi fuck," O'Reily said, his breath hot next to Vern's ear. "I'm not your fucking prag. I'm not your bitch. And you'll remember that if you want your pure Aryan ass to stay alive in this shithole. You're gonna stay the fuck away from me from now on. You hear me?" Vern glared up at him, and O'Reily brought his hand down on Vern's neck, cutting off his breathing. "Do you hear me?"

"Y-yes," Vern choked out. O'Reily relaxed the pressure on his throat, and Vern took a desperate gulp of air.

O'Reily bared his teeth in a feral, wolfish smile. "Good." And suddenly he was gone, sauntering out of Vern's pod, his customary smirk on his face, as if nothing had happened.

Vern sat up slowly, massaging his neck. He looked around, cautiously, trying to seem casual. It didn't look like anyone had seen what had just taken place.

At the moment, he didn't much care. He knew what just happened. Fuck it. He'd just been...shoved off, defeated, humiliated.

That stringbean mick motherfucker.

Vern got off the bed, dragged himself over to the sink. He forced some water down his throat, which was so sore that even a sip hurt like a bitch.

He looked out of his pod down into the middle of Em City. Saw O'Reily sitting there at a table, playing some stupid card game with Hill and Rebadow.

He tried to think of some suitable form of revenge. He could have O'Reily killed, Vern told himself---and yet he didn't quite believe it. Their little...encounter... had given him the impression that O'Reily couldn't be killed, that nothing could wipe that cocky grin off his face.

Which was horseshit, of course. Vern knew that.

He saw O'Reily lay his cards down on the table, his face full of triumphant glee. Vern grimaced.

He'd get his revenge. He had to. Not quite yet, of course. He...couldn't, just yet. For one thing, it would probably put Em City into a lockdown.

But he would, eventually. Everything was always paid back sooner or later in Oz.

***

A year and a half later

Vern loomed over the fucking tard Cyril O'Reily, who stared back up at him with innocent wide-eyed confusion. "You look like your brother."

And it was true, and not true at the same time. Cyril's face was just as pretty as his brother's, just as chiseled. But he had none of the older O'Reily's hardness, none of the shrewdness, none of the invulnerability. Cyril's eyes were open and trusting. They went well with his girly blond hair. "I know Ryan from Em City." Oh, didn't he just.

And wasn't it just too convenient that Ryan had such a fuckable little brother. Like Ryan, but not so...difficult.

Vern grinned as he showed Cyril into the storage room. "First, take your clothes off." Cyril looked at him, bewildered and a little scared---both emotions that Ryan O'Reily never felt, let alone showed. "C'mon. It's all right."