To the Doctor, Julia is beautiful in every way; she always has been to him, though truthfully, his perception of her beauty has never been quite the same as a human's perspective. She is beautiful in the way that her very life, her presence, the heart and soul of her, is as necessary as the stars themselves. He's felt close to her from the start, their deepening friendship anchoring him in this unknown world. There was no abrupt shift for him from friendship to deeper, more intimate feelings, it all just seemed to — happen. Like breathing, like being connected to her was more natural than anything he's known in so long. He's carried wounds of another kind, old hurts, so many losses, ghosts that linger; she's healed something in him, too, in so many ways.

But he doesn't want to dwell on all that's come before, all the times he feared getting too close, the swell of that fear whispering in the back of his mind that this can all be taken away. There's none of that tonight, not when he just wants to feel this with her, be with her, be here for her, be present.

There's her soft voice and the way her smile makes her words seem to float in the air between them. He's so distracted by her helping to get his pants off, and her touch against his chest, that he's delayed in noticing all of her. It says everything, of course, that she can distract him to this degree, even fluster him in a way that's purely playful.

"Even then?" He laughs a little huskily. "So it was more than just a dance, was it? I suppose I might have been —" He kisses the corner of her mouth and pulls back, and he cuts his own sentence off abruptly, taking her in fully for a moment. And now his brain short circuits a little. All that's left between them is underwear, and there's little left to the imagination, but even that is arousing in its own way.

"Julia," he starts, ducking his head for a brief moment before moving to rest his hands on her hips. "You're beautiful."