Superb (The Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak remix)
Everything you ever heard about Time Lord sexuality, or the nonexistence thereof, is a lie.
Okay, historically it's true that Time Lords were a bit repressed. The grandeur and majesty of the heritage of Rassilon didn't exactly lend itself to elaborate scenes of debauchery. But these days, there are only a handful of Time Lords around, and it's safe to say the species is, as a whole, pretty damn sexy. If a skinny man in a suit offers you a ride in his phone box, you'd best pack your good knickers. If a dapper madman takes you out dancing, you should resign yourself to the inevitability of a night of passion and bad pop music. If a sweet-looking blonde gives you a flirtatious look over the rim of her cocktail glass--
But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
"Romana," said the Princess Strella, "I -- that is to say, we, Prince Reinhart and I, were wondering--"
"Yes?" said Romana.
They were, at that moment, strolling arm in arm through the ancient stone corridors of the castle of Tara, and attracting not a little attention, on account of how they were both impossibly beautiful and nearly identical.
"Will you and the Doctor be staying for our wedding?"
"I'm not sure," said Romana, "we do have a mission of cosmic importance to complete."
"And a time machine," Strella pointed out. Her grip on Romana's arm tightened, just a fraction. Her fingernails grazed the sensitive skin of Romana's inner arm. "You see," she said, "we would be honoured if you attended our wedding."
"And our wedding night," added Strella, pausing and turning to look at Romana face-on. Her fingers intwined with Romana's.
"And the Doctor?" Romana asked.
A smile played around Strella's lips. "Oh," she said carelessly, "he's welcome, too."
"He's just a bit tense," said Mel apologetically, as Glitz stormed out of the TARDIS. "He's harbouring a lot of negativity."
"He's harbouring a package of illegal Category Mauve drugs in his jacket," said Romana. "Sorry. Saw them when it fell open."
"Oh!" Mel removed her wet coat, balled it up and threw it across Romana's console room. "I could kill him. You know how you can tell when he's lying?"
"His mouth is open?"
"Not even that! If he's awake," Mel was sitting down, and pulling off her mud-soaked shoes and socks, "he's planning his next lie. Or maybe a scam, or a bit of a con, or an elaborate fabrication." She wrung the water out of her hair. "Thanks for rescuing us," she added. "I didn't fancy my chances against the execution squads."
"What did Glitz do?" Romana asked.
"Oh, only tried to blackmail the Chief Pontiff. Nothing very bad." Mel buried her face in her hands. "And who's the idiot who's stuck traveling with him? Me!"
"Don't be silly." Romana knelt in front of Mel, taking her hands. "I won't let you go anywhere with him. You're staying with me. We can go traveling together, if you like, or I could take you home--"
"What?" Mel was looking brighter all ready, "and miss all the fun?"
Romana beamed. "That's the spirit," she said. "Never give up." Although she was already wondering what she was going to do with this human she'd picked up, and what did they eat, and it was just like getting a pet, you couldn't do these things impulsively--
Mel's kiss took her completely by surprise. But at least that was one problem solved.
She never went looking for trouble, but somehow it seemed to find her.
Like the crew of idiots in Cardiff, who claimed to be an elite band of alien hunters. One of whom was currently undressing her, in between slurred assertions that she was not gay, merely bisexual, like most people, certainly most of the people she worked with--
Romana didn't object to being undressed -- indeed, it was a reciprocal disrobing -- but she was slightly concerned about the closed circuit television. It probably wasn't the first time sex had taken place in the apparently-deserted Hub, but starring in the Torchwood sex tape wasn't part of her plans for this century.
"By the way," Tosh said, "is it true about Time Lords?"
"When I find the person who came up with the story about week-long orgasms--"
"No," said Tosh, between doing something quite unspeakably brilliant with her tongue, "the dying thing. Is it true you can't die?"
"Well, after a manner of--"
"Hold it right there."
For a drunken human alien hunter, Tosh moved remarkably fast. The handcuffs flashed in the dim Torchwood light.
"The safeword," she said, "is Weevil."
"Time Lord, eh?" said Doctor Sullivan, looking at the x-rays. "Are you going to drop me in the middle of a ruddy Dalek warzone, or just tie me up with a skipping rope and lock me in a closet?"
Romana tapped her little finger against her lips. "If I opted for the latter," she said, "would you think less of me?"
Humans, she thought, were awfully cute when they blushed. She wondered if she could talk him into keeping the uniform on.
Of course, it wasn't all silly hijinks and gratuitous bisexual promiscuity. Occasionally she saved the world, too. Sometimes without even having to get dressed.
"That," said Romana, "is the worst plan I've ever heard."
The Master looked slightly hurt. This may have had something to do with the whip marks across his back.
"I thought it had a certain--"
"There is no way you'll be able to finish that sentence without making me laugh," said Romana, tightening the restraints. "You're going to use bad pop music to take over the world?"
"It's called using a challenge as an opportunity," said the Master. "I introduce a hypnotic beat into the music that works its way into the back of every puny human mind -- and when they're all bopping their heads and dancing along with ex-soap actors from Australia, that's when I take over."
"Remember when you were Prime Minister? That was hilarious." Romana contemplated the nipple clamps. "What will you do to the Doctor, while all this is going on? You know he doesn't like it when you try to take over the world."
"I know. It's so tedious." The Master gave her a curious look. "What would you like me to do to him?"
Romana leaned back on her knees, contemplating.
"Nothing," she said at last.
"Nothing?" The Master looked appalled. "I'd hoped you were going to come up with something kinky that involved Kylie Minogue's gold hotpants and a diamond dog collar."
"You've obviously given it a lot more thought than I have."
"Yes, but it's going to be a lot more fun if I can tell him it was your idea."
Romana stood up, trying on the coat of his bespoke suit. "I think you're underestimating the power of ostricization--"
"That's not even a proper word."
"No, but I've been ignoring him for centuries, now, and it's driving him crazy. You should give it a go." She checked the time on his watch. "By the way, UNIT will be arriving to arrest you in about four minutes. This is what you might call an elaborate and humiliating set-up."
"And I'm stealing your watch. And your suit." She left his shoes, though. For one thing, they didn't fit, and for another, they weren't nearly as cute as her scarlet stilettos. "There's no point struggling," she added, "not even a laser screwdriver could undo those knots. Oh, I'm taking that, too."
The Master uttered a stream of gendered invective, to which she chose not to listen. It was in any case drowned out by the sound of helicopters.
"Oh," she added, when he was finished, pausing in the doorway to look back at him, "I seduced your wife last week. She said you were rubbish."
"WHAT?" the Master shouted over the noise.
"I SAID, I SLEPT WITH -- oh, never mind."
It wasn't until she was in her own TARDIS and on her way to another galaxy that she realised she'd forgotten her underwear. Still, it was hardly the first time.
The best thing about humans was that you could leave them on one planet, and come back a few decades later and they'd hardly moved at all. Like that lovely journalist she met through Harry, who turned up in the middle of a Sontaran invasion with a small team of teenagers and a sonic ... well, a sonic lipstick, but that was just typical, really.
"Absolutely," Sarah Jane agreed, after the kids had gone to bed. "Typical gender normative thinking -- I thought Time Lords were advanced and enlightened."
"Of course they are," said Romana, pouring herself another glass of wine and curling herself up on the couch beside Sarah Jane, "ask any Time Lord." Her gaze was caught by a colourful mass of wool hanging discreetly on a hat stand. "Is that--?"
Sarah blushed. "I was very young," she said.
"So was I, once."
"I can't imagine," said Sarah. She gave Romana a sidelong glance. "Are you likely to be staying in this time and place for a while?"
"Maybe." Romana leaned forward a fraction. "How long would you like me to stay?"
Sarah Jane didn't lean back. "We'll start with a night," she said.
"Week-long orgasms?" said Martha, putting down her fork. People in the surrounding tables were looking. Romana chose to ignore them. "Week-long orgasms?" Martha repeated, a bit more quietly, "really?"
The Doctor opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, Romana said, "Of course not."
"Damn," said Martha.
"Forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two at the outside," Romana added. "Anyone who claims otherwise is almost certainly exaggerating or--"
"But," said the Doctor.
"Or male," she finished.
"And let me tell you, faking orgasm for four bleeding days is not my idea of fun," Romana added.
The Doctor drained his glass in one long swallow, and signaled the waiter for another.
"But the Rani--" he said.
"But you said--"
"I was young," said Romana gently, "and a bit naive. I've learned a lot since then."
"And how," said Martha, with a trace of a blush.
"This conversation is making me uncomfortable," said the Doctor.
"We could always talk about that time you blew up our planet?" Romana suggested, "or that time you cried over the Master's body while the humans he'd brutalised looked on, or the occasion on which you caused the creation of Torchwood, although it's quite fitting that your human nemesis should be a secret organisation so incompetent their internal security tapes can end up on YouTube--"
"This conversation's fine," said the Doctor quickly, "tell me more about how our relationship was founded on a web of lies. I was enjoying that."
Romana shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I was swayed by old myths about female Gallifreyan sexuality. I got older, read a few Pythic texts, got over it."
"And shagged most of my friends," the Doctor pointed out.
"Well, you have very nice friends."
"Three day orgasms," Martha mused, the sight of Time Lords bickering like children holding little novelty for her.
"It's what you might call evolutionary compensation for the male of the species being self-important jackasses," Romana explained. She squeezed Martha's knee. "Of course -- being telepathic -- it might be possible to trigger that physical response in a human. Under the right circumstances."
Romana's hand moved to Martha's inner-thigh. "Of course, it might require a bit of experimentation."
"Then it's a good thing you have a time machine," said Martha. "No need to rush."
"Don't mind me," said the Doctor, "I'll just be on my way. Exploring time and space on my own. Being a self-important jackass. The usual."
Martha caught Romana's eye.
"Fine," she said, "provided he does what he's told." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, and wondered if she still had that navy uniform.