He's Fire And Ice And Rage

It is an infantile superstition of the human spirit that virginity would be thought a virtue and not the barrier that separates ignorance from knowledge. Voltaire – French Writer

Virginity.

He hasn't been a virgin in the sexual sense in so long he genuinely can't remember what it's like. Not that he thinks he lost it early---in fact, he was a bit of a late bloomer---but due to his incredible lifespan it was, literally, so long ago it's difficult to remember. (When he does remember the actual act, he generally wishes he hadn't. There was so much awkwardness, confusion, and general embarrassment; he likes to pretend that first time never really happened at all.)

He's always known what sex is and basically what it feels like. Like, how a person always knows what chocolate tastes like or that bananas are banana-shaped. A person had to see a banana for the first time or taste chocolate once to actually know, but it happened so far in the past that they can't remember a time when they didn't know.

He wants to explain this to Martha one day (she has another one of those ridiculous lists of questions and he's sure she's taking notes), but he thinks that might be too simple a way of describing losing his virginity. After all, copulation is so ridiculously important in human life that he imagines it really should be more of a focus to him considering how much time he spends with humans. As it is, he simply can't figure out how to make it interest him. Sweaty, groaning, messiness, or a splitting supernova over the Silver Devastation, with the light shooting through the icicles on the trees. He knows which he'd take in an instant.

While he might not "indulge" in sexual acts, he does see the effects of them on those around him. The change they go through once they've crossed that boundary between ignorance and knowledge. He does, after all, tend to pick very young companions, may of whom aren't experienced in many things. Virginity is something many humans cherish, and sometimes they try to prevent its loss. Sometimes they'll wander off with some other person for a while, doing things he doesn't want to think about, and they'll come back changed. A little wiser, a little more knowledgeable.

When Nyssa re-arrived after her time with that boy, he considered asking her what it felt like. Not the act itself, because he genuinely never wished to know, but the changing afterwards. The shift from ignorance to knowledge. He can't unlearn what he knows, so he can never feel that change again. It's a strange thing to want, he figures. To be able to feel that shift again. But, he does.

He wants to know what it feels like to be ignorant.

That stands for more than just with sexuality, of course. He wants to forget what it feels like the first time he lost someone he loved, the first time he lied, the first time he killed someone, the first time his actions destroyed a planet.

After the first time, there are always subsequent times. As with all virginities, he supposes, people wait decades, focus on preventing that one time from being anything but exceptionally important. After that first time, it could happen an infinite number of times, each time becoming less and less important until all that's left is an uncaring, asexual being like the Doctor who could give a hoot about sex. He's been there, he's done that. He doesn't even remember where he began.

He wishes he didn't have a beginning when it comes to the violence and destruction in his past. He wishes he were still preventing that first time rather than sitting, staring numbly at everything he's caused.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 605

When the dance starts, you are alone.

You expect this, of course. You're used to being alone.

A woman takes your hand, pulls you onto the floor, whisks you off your feet. You shouldn't care for her, shouldn't love her---after all, you are so different from the rest of them. Eventually a little girl dances between you, and you're happy. Blissfully, unapologetically happy. Then they spin away, and you're alone again.

Jo. Another woman spins back to you, curly blonde hair and an elfish face. She grins up with a bright, enthusiastic smile, and for the first time in years, you feel young. Another man taps her on the shoulder---he's like you, but more human, and he pulls her away.

Sarah Jane. A bright and innocent brunette pulls you into the dance this time. She's all bold and brave, with big smiles and a heart that is sturdier and surer than the two that beat beneath your chest. She's got big patchwork suns on her striped vest, and you feel brilliant and brave when you spin her out. She doesn't come back from the spin, of course.

Romana Blonde and bright-eyed, another woman spins back, instead. She is your match, in many ways. Wit, intellect. She knows the dance so very well, and she's not ashamed to tell you that she knows it better than you. You only grin back that crooked grin of yours and twirl her, letting her schoolgirl skirt (so silly and immature for one as old and wise as she) spin around her. She takes her own leave from you, wishing to explore the ballroom rather than keep your hands linked in dance.

Nyssa. A fairy-skirted princess with long, raven curls tugs you into the dance this time. She's like you in many ways, yet so very different. You're shyer, now. It's harder to accept that she wants you, that her biting words and brilliantly know-it-all ways are only to impress you. You do, of course, figure it out---but only as she's spinning away.

Grace. An older woman spins back, shoulder-length ginger hair and a beautiful teal opera gown. She's experienced, and when she wants you to kiss her---which she does---she just tells you, doesn't wait, doesn't hesitate. She took your life, it's only proper you save hers. She wants you to leave the dance floor with her and it's tempting---oh, so tempting, but you don't. You can't. You're not ready.

Reinette Her opera gown spins out, and a corseted blonde beauty spins back. She, too, holds the mark of experience, having known you all her life, she's put a claim on you, one you easily accept, want, need. Your hand on her hip, her fingers entwined with yours, and you would like nothing more than to learn her dance as she teaches it to you. You're distracted for a moment and she's gone. That's always the way that it is.

Rose You take the hand of another blonde, this one insanely young and far too naieve. Your dance is joyful, happy, complete. She melts the ice that's settled around your hearts and makes you more...human, again. Heals the wounds that the War left behind. You dip and spin her, but neither of you can hold on, and before you know it, she's gone.

And you're alone again.

You expect this, of course. You should be used to being alone, by now.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 576