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Canton lays his hands on the rough concrete of the low wall running the perimeter of the roof and looks out at the city skyline. He flicks a glance towards the access door when he hears it creak, then turns his face back to the horizon. “Doctor,” he says when the tall man steps up beside him.
“Canton. You don't look happy to see me.”
“It's not you,” Canton sighs. “It's just . . . three years ago, the hints you dropped about the future . . . It filled me with such hope, imagining that things would get better, easier, for people like me. I know it's silly to think things should be different already, when you're from how many hundred years away and here it's only been three, but there it is.”
“What happened?”
“My—the man I was seeing—he left me, a month and a half ago. Told me he couldn't do it anymore, couldn't bear to disappoint his mother, he wanted a family, all of this . . . I told him I wanted a family too, with him, but he just shook his head and told me it was impossible.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I wanted to yell at him, to tell him that he was being a coward, that he had no idea what was possible, but I knew there was no way for me to change his mind.” He looks sideways at the Doctor. “Did you know that was going to happen?”
The Doctor shakes his head. “The only things I know about you are what is or will become public record, and what I've learned from meeting you myself. I do know that you'll get through this dark time, though, perhaps with help from a new environment. Some very interesting changes starting in San Francisco now, if you're open to recommendations. And things will get better within your lifetime—for a while, anyway, change being less of a linear progression and more a wibbly irregular waveform and all that, and not without great costs and sorrow to achieve it. But soon enough, on your planet and in your country, laws will begin to recognize and more and more people to understand just how little sexual desire has to do with ability and morality, and you will live to see it start.” The Doctor breaks off, blushing, and smiles out at the sky. “I really shouldn't be telling you all this.”
Canton nods. “A man shouldn't know too much about his own future.”
“Oh, no! Well, yes, but now that I've started anyway, it would be so much more exciting for me to just show you! Not your own future, of course, that's out of the question, but I can show you where things are headed in about a hundred generations.”
Startled, Canton follows, stumbling, after the Doctor as he leads him by the hand to the stairs down from the roof and into his TARDIS, standing improbably in the middle of a photocopy room in a nondescript office in the tower below. The Doctor grins and twirls around the control console, telling him what a treat he's in for, then throws open the door with a flourish and welcomes Canton to the 51st century.
He takes Canton's hand again and holds it—a little shyly?—as he walks him out onto a sunny street, in a recognizably futuristic city. Canton blushes and looks around furtively, expecting someone in the mostly human pedestrian traffic to scowl and point, but no one bats an eye.
“They don't care that we're both men?”
“Not in the slightest. People in this corner of history have a commendably open and embracing attitude towards sexuality—hardly anything's censured or looked down on, if it's consensual. You could walk me down the street on a collar and lead, just one of a whole harem of slaves, and no one would be bothered as long as we all looked comfortable with the situation.”
Canton blushes as he looks around and spots a group of people of varying genders and species doing exactly that. “Where are we going?”
“To a fancy hotel!” The Doctor beams at him. “You deserve pampering, Canton Everett Delaware, and tonight I am going to pamper you.”
The Doctor leads him into an expansive open-air plaza and grazes a kiss across his knuckles before leaving him standing in front of a towering abstract sculpture and waltzing up to a plinth with a sphere on top, which turns out to be some sort of registration console. He watches the Doctor flash the machine a square of blank paper in a billfold, then joins him when beckoned to stand on a broad circular platform half-surrounded by blue-leafed shrubs. His heart leaps when the platform rises smoothly into the air, stopping at the edge of one of a thousand balconies overlooking the lobby-plaza.
“Welcome to the honeymoon suite,” the Doctor says, stepping off onto the balcony and pulling a railing up out of the floor behind Canton, who disembarks to follow him. “Well, that's a bit misleading. They're all the honeymoon suite, every room in this hotel, that's its gimmick. Every room equipped with a heart-shaped jacuzzi and a self-replenishing chocolate fountain.”
Canton shakes his head. “Are you trying to woo me, Doctor?”
The Doctor, caught up in pointing out the room's luxurious amenities, stills and looks over his shoulder with a wince. “Too soon?”
Canton's shoulders draw up, then sink as he slowly lets out a breath. “I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready to forget . . . but I am willing to try.”
Canton, honestly, is ready to tumble down onto the deep pile of silky-looking pillows that seems to represent a bed in a tangle of hands and mouths and ties tugged askew as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but the Doctor makes him wait. Through a dinner of foods Canton is afraid to ask the origins of but acknowledges are delicious, exquisitely presented on a table on the balcony with a perfect view of the double sunset, through a slow dance to 20th-century Earth jazz as the light fades from the sky and discretely placed lamps throughout the suite begin to glow warmly without any interference from Canton or the Doctor, through a dessert of fruit dipped into the chocolate fountain and fed to each other by hand, and into the heart-shaped sunken jacuzzi, ostensibly to wash off the drips and smears of spilled chocolate, the Doctor makes him wait.
They face away from each other to undress, the Doctor seeming again incongruously shy as he drapes his clothes over the back of a chair. Canton steals a look at his long limbs and smooth skin, and nearly moans out loud with the sudden flush of desire that comes rolling over him, brimming up from those days and months he spent in the Doctor's company back in '69, a craving that he'd suppressed then because he wasn't allowed, was already in love. He strips off the rest of his clothes and climbs hastily into the tub, grateful for the camouflage the hot water provides.
The Doctor climbs into the tub after him, sitting as close to directly opposite Canton as the shape—more like an anatomical human heart than the stylized symbol Canton expected—allows. Canton reaches forward, across the deepest part of the basin, leaning in for a kiss, but the Doctor pushes him back. Frowning, Canton settles back into the curved seat, looking up at the Doctor who hovers, close enough that Canton can taste his breath, his eyes half closed.
One of the Doctor's hands moves under the water, finding Canton's hip, and tracing a line down the outer side of his thigh. His fingers dip into the hollow of Canton's knee and draw up, signalling him to straighten his leg. Both of the Doctor's hands caress Canton's knee and run along the sides of his calf to his ankle. With a sigh, Canton stretches his arms out along the edge of the jacuzzi and leans back as the Doctor lifts his foot out of the water and begins to massage it.
His long fingers dig deep into the tendons of Canton's foot and he moans, sinking a little deeper into the water. The Doctor's lips part as he watches Canton, his gaze flickering between Canton's face and his foot, pausing occasionally on his deeply breathing chest. The Doctor lowers his head towards Canton's foot, licking his lips and closing his mouth around his big toe. He sucks, and Canton shudders, eyelids flickering, one hand plunging beneath the surface to stroke his aching cock. Canton's eyes snap open when that sucking mouth disengages.
“Ah-ah,” the Doctor says, punctuating his statement with a nip on the fleshy underside of his toe, “keep your hands where I can see them.”
Canton reluctantly obeys, laying his dripping arm back along the tub's rim like before. The Doctor rewards him by giving his big toe another tantalizing suck, then moving on to the one next to it.
He continues down the line to the end, spending an extra long time nibbling and tongue-bathing the pinkie toe, and Canton cannot take it any longer. “Damnit, I need you inside me now.”
“But what about the other foot?” the Doctor asks, looking up through his eyelashes.
“It'll still be there in ten minutes. Let's go.”
Canton takes hold of the Doctor's arms and pulls him forward and up, meeting him standing in the middle of the tub in a slippery, streaming, squirming embrace. Canton kisses him desperately, arching backwards, then he climbs up onto the edge of the jacuzzi and lays on his back, tugging the Doctor to stand between his legs. The Doctor glances over to the tray of single-serving oils and lotions sitting next to the tub and chooses a bottle of clear liquid, squeezing out a handful and using it to slick up Canton and himself, opening Canton's ass with his fingers. He pushes in, and Canton hooks his ankles behind the Doctor's back, pressing his thighs against his hips.
The Doctor's cock is long and smooth, like the rest of him, and he thrusts with a contained fervor. Canton's head falls back, landing, luckily, on one of the hotel's fluffy towels. He holds on to the edge of the tub with white knuckles as he pushes back against the Doctor, struggling to keep his grip with wet and trembling legs.
The Doctor wraps his lubricated hand around Canton's cock and strokes, long and smooth, in time with his pistoning hips and Canton rolls his head to the side, half-burying his face in the soft towel as he shouts and spurts his climax over the Doctor's hand and his own belly, heaving with the force of his breath. The Doctor makes a strangled noise and lets go of his prick, grabbing both of Canton's shoulders and pinning him down to the floor until he's finished slamming his hips against Canton's haunches.
Panting, the Doctor pulls free and climbs up onto the floor next to Canton, grabbing another towel from the abundant selection and dropping it across his lap. “Let the record show,” the Doctor says, shaking a finger at the glittering ceiling, “that all progressed a bit faster than I'd anticipated, and that I will not be returning you to your own time until after I've had my way with your other foot.”