One of the oldest forms of Star Trek fan fiction is Kirk/Spock fiction, later known as K/S, also broadly referred to as ‘slash’ from the slash separating the names. This fiction is a deliberate queering of these shows, even though the writers of this fiction do not necessarily have a queer agenda. Lamb and Veith both declare that "these stories are not about two gay males and should not be characterized as examples of homosexual literature - either male or female" (1986: 252–253). Lamb and Veith interpret K/S as heterosexual women projecting their desire of heterosexual relationships on two men. Their evidence for this practice is that typical and ‘acceptable’ gender signifiers are removed from both the men usually featured in the fiction. That is, Kirk and Spock are both made androgynous, at least to a certain extent (254). One obvious question, then, is why doesn’t this fiction invent women where there were no women in order to address the problem another way. Bacon-Smith quoted a panel member at an American convention: "I don’t want to see them [the characters] involved with other women" (Bacon-Smith, 1992: 240).

But there is probably another reason for why this fiction depicts two ostensibly heterosexual males involved in an erotic or sexual relationship. As Cherny notes, in most cases these stories are "written by heterosexual women for other heterosexual women" wanting to explore their own sexuality and sexual desires (1994). Bacon-Smith argues that "women who read and write the material do so because it is sexually exciting, among other reasons. They can share in the fantasy of sexual relationships with both the male screen characters with whom they already maintain an imaginary relationship" (1992: 239). Two guys fucking, but with all the sensitivity that word does not imply, can be extremely erotic for many women (straight and gay), just as two women making love excite many men (Russo, 1987: 294)—a concept strangely missing from Lamb and Veith’s argument. Further, Cherny argues that the "sheer number of AUs [alternate universe stories] with rape and s&m and dominance games between the characters leads me to dismiss Penley’s (1992) and Lamb and Veith’s (1985) argument that slash is feminist retelling of relationships as equal, balanced, androgynous romances. This is not fiction that is utopian, it is fiction that expresses erotic needs, as Russ (1985) points out" (1994).

The reaction to slash fiction is perhaps predictable. It is very much an underground aspect of television fandom (in as much as this fandom is above ground) with many other fans being opposed to it. A large number of science fiction conventions refuse to allow slash fanzines to be sold for fear of minors having access to it, or because it simply offends the convention organisers and they fear that it may offend the guests who are usually stars of the shows whose characters feature in these stories. Many slash writers publish under pseudonyms, and slash zines can be sent in brown paper bags for anonymity precisely to avoid legal problems. However, it is quite easy to find slash stories of all descriptions archived on the internet. Below are just two sites that I kinda like.

• Fan Fiction on the Net - Slash
• Pink Rabbit Consortium

Doctor Who fans do not write much slash. What does exist is different from the typical Star Trek slash as described by Russ, Penley, Bacon-Smith, Jenkins, and Lamb and Veith. These differences are easily accounted for. Doctor Who fans don’t tend to write as much fan fiction as Star Trek and other television fans do, therefore there is much less variety in the types and styles of fan fiction written and published. Plus, the series itself does not readily lend itself to the predominant slash fiction featuring the square-jawed and very straight heroes of Star Trek - none of the Doctors, nor many of the companions, could be described as a Captain Kirk style of hero. Subverting a masculinist heroic paradigm in Doctor Who does not work simply because it does not exist to be subverted. Arguably the Doctor is already the type of fop or dandy that in much Western popular culture signifies the homosexual man.

What comes below is an example of Doctor Who slash fiction.

Note: the following fiction features characters © the BBC and Johnny Byrne. It features two women involved in consenting adult sex. There is no violence or coercion. However, due to the differences in the laws governing the depiction of consenting homosexual sex, in some countries you may not be allowed to down-load or read this depending on how old you are. You have been warned.

It started with a kiss, fleeting in the console room.

For two days they'd wondered if they'd been seen. Panic kept them apart; polite. But it wasn't long before they were friends again, and the Doctor made no mention, asked no questions.

Fate intervened. Death of a friend, other friends, and finally separation.

Thoughts, for neither kept a diary.

I found someone else. Surprised me, that did. Went back to Brizzy, back to hating Dad and Ivan. Missed cousin Colin. Of all the clan, he was the one I really got on with. He was off in Europe to find his destiny so I went to Sydney. Summer there, hot - and I joined the demo for our rights.

Strange that hurt and pain of persecution. Like being locked up for being something you just are. Like being black, or Jewish, or ... or the Doctor.

Cynical laugh there. Funny how much I've grown up. Mum noticed the change, asked me. What could I tell her? That a UFO (okay, TARDIS) abducted me and some moustache-twirling alien shrunk Auntie Vanessa into a little doll, and another alien git (I know, I got to like Adric in a funny sort of way) blew himself up to stop the Cybermen (cyberwhat?) from destroying our planet and that there are so many planets out there with green aliens that want to destroy Earth in so many

STOP!!!

But that's not what I want to think about, back here in my bed. The big brass one I found and dragged into this room the TARDIS gave me ... us.

And I don't want to think about that yet, either. I want to think about the black of the Sydney night, the colour and pageantry that lit that black up. Force of light against the forces of dark-or the other way round if you want to know what Dad thinks of it. But who cares what he thinks. He might as well be dead for all I care.

How strange. You yearn for your father and I hate mine. And I wish what happened to your father on mine.

Why can't I concentrate on the one thing? Highly excitable, that's what poor Auntie Vanessa used to say about me. Impetuous.

Maybe that's why I went back to Annie's place that night.

We'd fallen into sync with the slogans, fallen into step, and fell into ... yeah, I guess it was love. Later on we fell into bed and did what I guess we wanted to.

Rabbits! What a mess.

For a year though, a year she guided me, loved me, filled the gap left in my heart. The great big blank bit you took when you and the Doctor left me at Heathrow.

It started again with a kiss. Lips pressing on lips - Nyssa's hair feathering down Tegan, making the Australian laugh. "Shh ..." and back to it.

This kiss wasn't like the others Tegan had tasted. Billy fumbling in the car back in the teenage years of the Gold Coast. He'd tasted of popcorn and stale bubble gum, and had thrust his tongue in and out with the urgency of instinct.

Annie had tasted of pool-hall smoke, but had been less frantic, more fun. Until the magic had become routine, the ritual a chore, and stopped altogether as another took Tegan's place. And Tegan went back to England, back to hell and the Doctor, back to

Nyssa, though was different. She teased-hummingbird tongue darting in and out the same way Billy's hadn't. She played Tegan's mouth-skilled player who tasted a bit like fresh-cut pine, a bit like honey. And her finger was somewhere else, playing her there, too.

How the hell have we ended up here, in my bed, naked ... ? Panic-the Doctor might ... screw the Doctor ...

Nyssa rose off her. "Enough."

"No - " Tegan moaned, catching herself unawares. "Please, I mean ..."

Nyssa smiled.

Tegan wondered. "You've ..." She stopped.

"Done this before?" Nyssa finished for her.

Helpless, speechless, Tegan nodded.

The smile grew, blossomed. "Of course."

"With another woman?" Voice shrill with her surprise.

The smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled frown. "How else to you expect to learn the art?"

"Strewth." Tegan looked away, turned inward and explored odd stirrings. Jealousy, she realised, and wondered why it had been different with Annie and that slag who had stolen her heart.

"You don't do it this way?" The Traken rolled onto her side, propping herself up with her elbow, looking at Tegan.

"No." Tegan didn't look at her, stared instead at the ceiling. She wanted to see the shapes that had been on her Brisbane bedroom ceiling, see the shadows play and chase them. Anything but be here, thinking about things that hurt. But the TARDIS remained stubbornly white, stubbornly blank.

"Have I hurt you?"

"No." Same word, different way of saying it. This time she let it drift out of her mouth. I think I love you and I don't want you to think you've done anything wrong. I thought you were the child, not me.

Tegan started when Nyssa's fingertip began to circle her nipple, then she relaxed into the easy motion, remembering how Annie used to play. She lay her head back into the pillows, closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

"Sometimes," began Nyssa, "I really wonder about you humans."

Tegan moaned softly, losing herself, yet still listening.

"Sex is such a gift, such ..."

Tegan half raised her head, half opened one eye (noticed the TARDIS had lowered the lights and half thought about the Doctor and sex - while they were on the topic. Fragmented thoughts that had no business doing then). She looked at Nyssa, "A necessary act or the species will die out."

"That's what I mean." Nyssa shifted, made herself more comfortable and stopped moving her finger. Tegan reached for her hand and Nyssa returned it to its work. Tegan returned her head to the pillow. "You are so functional with it. I've read some of those books in the TARDIS library. All that, pain and games just to sleep with one another, and the guilt if they get it wrong."

"You've been reading Mills and Boon?"

"No, a series called Black Lace, and the Doctor suggested I read some Jane Austen, Shakespeare ..."

"So, you're saying that on Traken sex is different. That you're more - " she searched for a word - "liberated?" That's a bit difficult to believe, judging from what you've told me before.

Nyssa frowned, stopped her finger again. "I wouldn't say that."

The TARDIS lowered the lights to a shadow. Music started up, soft, on the periphery of their hearing, perhaps just in their minds. Slow; guitar strumming, a voice from heaven singing, strong and deep and, god

"Do you get the feeling we're being told to cut the talk and get into the action?"

"The Doctor?"

"Kinky bastard if he is. No, I saw him down in the lab. He seemed very preoccupied."

Nyssa just smiled again, looked about the room and wondered, "No, I think it's the TARDIS."

Tegan laughed. "Well, how romantic. Being turned on by a police box!"

Nyssa's face went closer to her friend's. "Not by the TARDIS only, I hope ..."

Tegan's finger answered by reaching out to touch the softness of Nyssa's breast, exploring her nipples (deep colour, large, almost the size and texture of a pregnant woman's), her body shifting up so she could explore Nyssa, let the Traken lie back and think of sweet nothing. Magically she was on top now, Nyssa's aristocratic fingers on her back, kneading, massaging, using the ball of her finger to avoid scratching. Hands gently pushing her head, her upper body down onto her, into the valley. Tegan started to lick, gently teasing the soft peach-down against its natural flow. Odd licking fur on a woman's breasts, a part of her brain told her and then remembered Nyssa was an alien, and she wondered if somehow this was wrong, knew it wasn't (how, how, how can this be wrong???). Licking up, somehow she moved downward to the soft belly, wanted to bite into the velvet fluff that got thicker and thicker, the further down she got.

And she was there, at the ripe, rich part of the body. The part that was already split open, juices flowing, hot and oh-that-scent that begged her in. And her mouth was on that mouth, her tongue in there to taste, going deep to feed, lick up the honey. Breathing in, she smelt the scent of pine needles fresh on the forest floor. No one on Earth truly smelt like that; Annie hadn't, surely no one else could.

Time moved on, they shifted. Nyssa's turn to taste, to lick-suck-swallow. Tegan's nipples first, driving the Australian mad, driving Tegan to bite-suck Nyssa's shoulder to stop the pain, stop the ecstasy. Two strings speak in symphony. Her body sang as Nyssa's fingers went into her, sliding in smooth, sliding out fast. Rubbing and teasing. Godgodgodgodgodgodgod! Two fingers, then three, and they withdrew and Tegan and Nyssa coupled, legs interlinking. Nyssa licking the sweat off Tegan's skin, hmm yes, leaving cool tracks in the heat, ohyesohyesohyes, while they rocked each other, rode each other thigh-on-thigh. Rocked each other to sleep. Blissful sleep, so Tegan dreamed.

Only Nyssa didn't sleep. That wasn't her way. She cradled Tegan for a while, thinking about so many things. Memories tumbling and crashing, wondering about her father and what he would have thought about Tegan. Crude, for a Traken. A commoner, really. But so alive, so vibrant. He would have seen that, approved. Questioning in her own way, being her in her own way. That's what he had seen in Kassia. No, banish the memories associated with THAT.

Change, that's what she needed. Time to shed those memories. Become herself as she was now. Time to live in that gap between past and future-time to live where the TARDIS exists. Time to ditch the velvet and find something else to wear. Something more cheerful.

Tegan tossed and turned while Nyssa picked and chose. Colourful skirt for a colourful mood.

And Tegan dreamed her nightmare again.

The one of the snake-and you don't have to be Freud to work that one out.