Author's Notes:
It's the only part I've managed thus far of Five Conflicting Theories Of Gallifreyan Sexuality. I am so sorry that Martha got this one.

The kissing is nice. The kissing is better than nice, as long as he doesn't think too much about the fact that the kissing is a regular thing with someone he technically lives with. Someone he shares meals with, someone who yells at him when the laundry machines break, someone who has on more than one occasion seen him naked.

Humans are serial monogamists, but he isn't Human. He's just... well, he's just very friendly.

His senses are overloading on Martha Jones and they could stay like this for a while, nothing urgent they should be doing instead. Take a day off, indulge in some tactile sensation.

Only he's somehow forgotten about the bit that comes after the kissing, and Martha clearly hasn't. Of course she hasn't, she's almost a doctor and she's got hormones to spare. He ignores the implications when she tugs at his already-loose tie and pretends she's just aiming for balance when she rocks her hips against his. It's amazing what you can get away with pretending not to notice when you're an alien.

But Martha is the sort of woman who pushes things, and her solution to his lack of response is to reach for his fly and try to, as it were, take the matter in hand.

He stops her with a hand on her wrist and says, "I can't."

"Course you can," she grins, and wriggles a bit more. "It's alright, I'm a big girl, I know what I'm doing." And then she processes his expression and says, "And when you say you can't, you don't mean..."

"No," he says, "I don't mean."

Martha stills in his lap and rests her hands on his shoulders, as though they were some designated safe-space. "You literally can't?" She stares at him for a moment, thinking. "Hold on, I've seen your..." and for a doctor-in-training the idea makes her a very bright red-brown, "I know you've got the right equipment."

"You know it looks like the right equipment."

"It doesn't do anything?"

"It does lots of things, but not the thing you've got in mind." He can feel the bruises forming on his ego and stammers onward. "We can do everything else, obviously. I'm really quite good at the everything else."

"So, wait, how did" - and he no longer winces at the past tense - "your lot have kids?"

"Grew them in vats," he says as though it were mere theory. "That's not weird," he says, preemptive, "that's just separating sex and reproduction. You lot have already started on that. That's normal, that is."

Never insult the species of the person who does the driving. Martha nods. "So we could do anything other than... you know?"

"Martha, these exams of yours are probably going to need more specific terms than 'that' and 'you know'."

Her eyes roll but her hips are reassuringly still. "Anything other than penetrative sex?"

"Unless you've got something in your knickers that you've kept well hidden."

"And you can't orgasm?"

"Not physically." He moves on quickly because he has to disappoint her here as well. "And, no, you can't do what my body would need you to do."

She, of course, has to ask. Because she's Martha and that's what she does. "Can anyone?" The painful part is the sympathy that softens the edges of her words.

"No," he says, just that because there's really not much more to add.

"So... you don't want to? Do the stuff that we could do?"

"I didn't say that. It'd be nice. Just not what you think it should be." He doesn't tell her the rest of it, how his body will shiver and itch until he can regulate his hormones into submission. Martha doesn't need to know that bit. "Are you upset?"

"No. Yes. No. I don't... you're an alien, I can't expect you not to be different. Two hearts," she says, sliding her hands to rest above them. A giggle takes her breath. "Two hearts and no dick."


"I know, sorry," she says, and almost sounds it. "I didn't mean to insult whatever it does."

"It tells the time," he lies, false words as comforting as ever.

"And it's got lasers?"

"That'd be silly," he says.

Martha rests her head against his chest, breathes her disappointment into his shirt. "I don't mind."

"You do, though."

"Doesn't matter," she says, slightly muffled. "Just cos we're different doesn't mean it won't work out."

This time he lies without saying anything at all.