One arm pillowing his head, the other spread on the expanse of the wide, lonely bed, McCafferty sprawled in slumber, his nudity concealed only by the black silk sheets he had grown accustomed to.

The long, white drapes that shielded the tall windows billowed in the gentle night time breeze, one of the panels of glass slightly open to keep the unusual and stiflingly hot midsummer’s night’s clamminess at bay.

In the distance, a lorry rumbled along the streets, diesel horn blaring quietly through the hectically silent night.

He couldn’t say what it was that disturbed his rest, although he was certain it wasn’t guilt, but – drawing himself from sleep’s tender embrace – he was aware that he was no longer alone, that there was someone there, in his locked and sealed chambers.

Again, he couldn’t say why he didn’t move, choosing to remain motionless as the refreshingly cool fingertips traced along the valley of his spine, light, barely even touching the smooth skin.

"Who are you?" The words tumbled from his lips as he felt the mattress shifting, another body sinking down beside him, out of his line of sight, those fingers brushing his tangled hair back from his neck and shoulders.

There was a soft, deep chuckle that made the hairs on his arms prickle with uncalled-for delight. "You know who I am, Macavity." He felt the warmth radiating from the other’s body as he leaned closer, lips close to McCafferty’s ear. "You’ve always known who I am."

Fighting the rising lust, the inexplicable urge to grab his midnight visitor and screw him sideways, he still remained motionless, eyes half-closed, enjoying the light sensations of gentle fingers on his flesh. "What do you want?"

"You know that too." The voice murmured, warm, silk-soft lips brushing his ear, his jaw, down his neck with light, fluttering kisses. The air-soft hand slid down his body, seductively dancing over his ribs. "The question is, Macavity, what do you want?"

Shifting under the sheets, the red-haired man rolled onto his back, opened his eyes, looking to the shadowed face of his guest, faint reflections of the beams of moonlight highlighting the familiar face, a lump swelling in his throat.

And another, considerably larger lump swelling elsewhere.

"You."

One silver and black eyebrow rose, the lips twitching in a mischievous smile. "Oh, come on." The lightly teasing humour that always glinted in his devilish green eyes was echoed in his tone. "Is that all I’m worth? A croaky ‘You’ from my arch-nemisis? Puh-lease! After all these years, give me something to work with..."

Leaning forward, Menke brushed a gentle kiss over McCafferty’s waiting lips and – meeting no resistance – teasingly moistened them with his tongue, one hand running down the reclining man’s cheek.

His own hand twining through Menke’s dark hair, McCafferty moaned softly, half-raising his head from the mass of pillows, allowing the younger man fuller access to his waiting mouth.

"You are so fucking beautiful." He whispered hoarsely, dragging his thumb down the dancer’s flushed cheek, a small smile that matched his own creeping onto the dark-haired man’s lips. "So fucking beautiful."

Menke’s emerald eyes glinted in the dim light of the room. "You’re not so bad yourself, mystery cat." He murmured softly, his legs straddling one of McCafferty’s, brushing the silk sheets against the copper-haired man’s growing erection.

His mouth descended, kissing his way down the broad chest, the light matt of copper curls there, surpisingly soft. Catching the silver nipple ring that hung inobtrusively from McCafferty’s right nipple, he tugged on it just enough to make the copper-haired man’s back arch off the mattress.

"Evil!" McCafferty wove his fingers through the familiar silver and black hair, his body straining up towards Menke’s searingly delicious mouth, but the younger man was on the move one again, He paused to dip his tongue into McCafferty’s navel, light, ticklish touches. "Munk...stop that..."

Menke raised his eyes, then playfully nipped at the tiny ridge of flesh over his belly button, making the former feline squirm. "You’re getting tired in your old age, eh, mystery cat?" He drew back, settling on his knees between McCafferty’s thighs, his mouth arching in a sexy smile. "Maybe I should leave you to get some kip."

"Don’t you dare!" Abruptly, McCafferty realised he had given in, sitting upright with Menke between his upraised knees. Dark hair was wound through his fists, his mouth hungrily exploring his enemy’s.

He couldn’t explain it, this wanting, this need to have Munkustrap, to be so close, so intimate with the man – by rights – that he should hate more than life itself.

Menke finally drew back, one hand resting on McCafferty’s silk-covered thigh. His own body was naked, beautiful and perfect as a sculpted statue, toned as any dancer’s should be, his dark hair spilling loosely around his almost-but-not-quite-innocent face.

"What do you want, Macavity?" His voice was soft, full of implication and hidden promise, mischief and desire dancing in equal measures in those flame-green eyes.

Eye-to-eye, his hand straying down the dancer’s shoulder and chest, McCafferty strained to find his voice, the smirk on those lips reminding him too greatly of his own one. "I want you, Munkustrap."

Menke smiled, drew his hand carelessly up McCafferty’s trembling thigh, taking the sheet with it, overwhelmingly powerful kiss that took his breath away.

"Well, darlin'," Menke's hand cupped McCafferty's chin, eyes fixing his in a steady, unbreakable stare, his expression turning cold and impassive. "You can't have me. You won't have me. You'll never have me."

It felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him, his body jerking as he came to full wakefulness, a shudder of disgust and dismay running through his body. He couldn't have just dreamt that Menke treatred him - Macavity - the same way he treated everyone else.

"Son of a bitch..." Rolling to his feet, McCafferty hissed under his breath, stalking towards the shower.

And for the next half an hour, he introduced his hand to a certain part of his anatomy, repeatedly, always bearing in my the twinkling green eyes of a certain prisoner that was trapped in his basement.

Maybe after the whole 'killing of the red-haired bitch in the hospital' thing was out of the way, he would be able to give his...guests more of his valuable time. Maybe teach Menke that it didn't do to get inside the Boss' head.

Maybe teach him just how bad things could be.

McCafferty allowed himself a small, bitter smile. No one - not even that astoundingly beautiful dark-haired dancer - could make McCafferty change his nature. He would do what he liked and, no matter how much his pets begged and pleaded, there would be no mercy.

Yep, he was in control of reality.

Who gave a damn about the Midsummer's Night's dreams?