The Time Travels Continue, from Ancient Greece to the Viking Age By kooldoggie
Aristarcus and Melatus had wandered the streets of their coastal city, hearing the locals call it Thessaloniki, taking in the sights of this ancient time of Greece and admiring the sight of so many nude youths such as themselves, going about their workday, chiseling sculptures of nudes similar to themselves, constructing new temples, frolicking at the beach or just resting lazily in the sun. Both tall, gracefully muscled boys donned only a chlamys, worn casually about their shoulders. It could be wrapped further around them if it got colder, but it seemed to be blazing hot here all day, so they exposed as much of their body as possible to the breeze coming from off shore, letting their uncircumcised sexes, lengthening in the heat, feel the coolness as well. Eventually, they came to the amphitheater where a famous philosopher seemed to be lecturing. The boys took a seat in the back, Melatus making a sort of pillow out of his chlamys so he could stretch out lazily; philosophy didn't interest him that much anyway, but Aristarcus tried to listen, although he was constantly distracted by the sight of his lover's perfect, nude form stretched out before him, Melatus resting his tired bare feet on Aristarcus' equally bare, hairless legs. The sight of the lecturer triggered something in Aristarcus' memory, and he told Melatus, "I think I know him, Socrates, right?"
Melatus shrugged, wiggling his toes in the hopes that his lover would massage his feet the way he liked. "Yeah, I think everyone here knows him...Why?"
Aristarcus scratched at his thick, curly, hair in ringlets, trying to remember. "No, I mean, not here, in class, somewhere else... Like he had lived a long time ago..." His brown eyes widened as a flood of memories was coming back to him, and almost instantly Melatus also remembered something about being an angsty, lazy boy, pale skinned, dyed black hair, pierced, writing poetry in the back of class while the teacher was talking about Socrates. But no, he was Melatus, an ephebe who spent most of his life naked, training at the gymnasium with his slightly older lover.
Ryder tried hard to come out, screaming at the Greek youths that they had to find their way back, or be lost forever. Melatus tried to shake it off, but the world around them rippled once again. Melatus, panicking, rose to his sit on his bare buttocks and held on to Aristarcus, the two Greek youths caressing each other while they transformed once more, to a later period...
They were still barechested, both boys seeming to have a problem keeping on shirts, but their skin seemed much paler than the olive-skinned Greeks they had been. The blonde, who seemed to have been resting on a grassy field, looked down at his pink skin, splashed with freckles, the pecs hard and flat. He again seemed to have some sort of tribal tattoos down his slender arms. He looked down further to see he had on some sort of ancient type of trousers, reaching down to leather boots. He had on a pair of engraved, golden armbands, paired with bracelets, and around his neck was a golden torque. He knew his name was Torix, and from gazing around at the pastures and woods, a few timber buildings in the distance composing towns and villages, they were somewhere much further north now, probably Central Europe; they were Celtic tribesmen, and Torix was aware that something called the Roman Empire was way to the south of them.
Torix looked at his lover, Danos, who sat on a rock beside him, his lithe bare chest also taking in the sun, though his body, too, was fairly pale and freckled, his long hair, tied back into a sort of topknot ponytail, now much more reddish, his eyes a pale blue. Torix thought he looked utterly cute, with a golden dragon earring hanging from one ear under his red bangs, a torque about his neck as well. He wore a sort of kilt, his lightly fuzzed calves bare, and sandals on his long, bare feet. Danos smiled down on his companion, thinking Torix also looked so cute, with his shaggy, light brown hair, golden streaks through it, and bluish-green eyes outlined by high cheekbones. He also had golden hoops hanging from his ears. Danos went to lie by the youth, pressing their hairless chests together. "I'm still warm in my loins for you, Torix," purred the redhead. Torix squirmed, feeling confined in his trousers as well, but he couldn't remove them yet; he knew they were still far from home, and now was not a good time to make love, out in the open. "I'm horny too, my Danos, but I've got to concentrate. I've got to move us forward..."
Danos looked puzzled, his memory having become clouded again, but then both boys felt the rippling sensation, as whatever force came out of the boy who had been Ryder concentrated on bringing them a few hundred years into the future...
Garren breathed in the fresh forest air, his tall, muscular body feeling vigorous. The scene hadn't changed all that much, though the Germanic youth knew they were much further to the north, just beginning their treks south to initiate the fall of the Roman Empire. He sat astride a horse, his form now much taller, seeming to have returned to the 6'4" he had been as a studly college preppie. Again, he was barechested, but this torso was very cut and muscular and colored light brown from the summer sun, contrasting the tiny golden hairs on his thicker arms. Garren was a young warrior, very physical and well-trained, so he was going to have an amazing body. He felt two thick, golden braids on either side of his head, falling down around his chest. He usually wore his long blonde hair loose when riding, but it was important to have it tied up for battle. He had an iron sword in his hand, and looking further down Garren saw he wore buckskin trousers about his slim hips and open-toed boots. He looked across at young Marcus, attired similarly, his long, muscular figure half-naked, his hair returned to blonde as well, with braids hanging down to his chest though he still had a topknot ponytail as well. His large, rather innocent-looking blue eyes, not really those of a warrior but a youthful raider pushed into this conflict, glanced around at the forest, remembering having come out of one like this as stone age savages. He had his sword strung across his back, but Marcus was still horny, his cock obviously tented in his buckskin trousers, and he glanced over at Garren pleadingly, begging in the language they still mutually understood: "Please, brother warrior, I don't want to die so young. Let's ride off and make love under the trees."
Garren sighed. His horniness was winning out as well, and he knew it would be too much of a shame to let such well-honed, virile bodies waste what time they had here. He nodded his agreement, sheathing his sword and coaxing his horse into the woods, a happy Marcus following close behind. When they had gone deep enough into the trees, where their fellow tribesmen probably wouldn't find them, the youths dismounted and threw off their armaments. The modern, peace-loving kids within them found war disgusting and didn't want to have any part of it. They pressed their buff, golden bare chests together, seizing each other's solid arms and kissing each other passionately, two nearly identical Germanic blonde warriors, the sexual energy thumping within their hearts. Marcus thought Garren looked like the essence of a sexy barbarian, not realizing he would fit the bill as well. He kissed down the panting Garren's long neck, while Garren, driven wild, pulled down his trousers, trying to pull off his boots even as he accepted his lover's embraces. They soon collapsed on top of each other, onto the leafy ground, Marcus pulling off his own clothes. Now they were as naked as they had been in ancient Greece, although these bodies were so much taller and bigger to fit their warrior environment, blonde-haired and golden-skinned examples of ancient Germanic youth. Garren panted hard, working the long, ten-inch cock in his large hands, while Marcus rubbed his own on his partner's ridged abs, feeling himself ready to explode all over him.
They kissed for all they were worth, a few blonde bangs coming untied and falling into their pale blue eyes, and finally Garren groaned and spilled his seed onto his tight groin, Marcus following shortly after, the white fluid starkly contrasting the dark golden summer-tanned skin it fell onto. They continued to breathe hard for a while, coming down from the high, Garren glad they had taken a much-deserved break to finally take care of their need, so now they could focus on getting back where they belonged. They pretty much had gone through ancient history already, pushing into the Middle Ages, so it shouldn't take them all that long now, he thought.
With that desire to move forward, the world around them rippled once more, the air seeming to grow even cooler, as if they were even further north. The trees here were sparser, and they were by a bay, rugged cliffs around them. They shivered, their muscles slightly smaller but still tight and dense for a militant lifestyle. Garren looked up at his naked lover, seeing he was again a brunette with chestnut brown locks, kept long so they fell into his eyes, but shaved on the sides and back, and yet the topknot ponytail theme continued, a little smaller but still kept tied with a leather thong above his shaved neck. His blue eyes were harder, his skin paler, and elaborate tribal tattoos traveled across his body up to his neck. Garren knew this was no longer Marcus, but Rolf, young son of their chieftain, who had taken to raiding the southern kingdoms of England and Ireland. They were Norsemen, Vikings, and he himself was Poul, son of an allied chieftain. He, also, was pale and similarly tattooed, runic characters running across his svelte but tightly muscled arms. Poul was still blonde, his hair kept long and natural, a flowing lion's mane to his shoulders, a few strands done into tiny braids with beads taken from earlier raids. His body was long, about 6'6", even taller than the German warrior, while Rolf was only about 6'3", though both boys had amazing long limbs and big, tough size 15 feet. They sometimes liked to climb the cliffs barefoot together, even when it was as cool as this, looking for seagull nests and eggs. They had been making love before going out on the next raid, convinced they might not make it back alive, and now they were shivering and still naked in each other's arms. They hugged tightly, Poul saying, "These times are so rough, but we're almost through them. Hopefully we'll be in more civilized times soon!"
Brown-haired Rolf teared up, the loose bangs swaying in front of his bright eyes and across his manly stubble. "Come, let's dress and get to the dragon ships, Poul. Perhaps we can die in each other's arms."
"No!" protested Poul. He still had vague memories of being Ryder, a kid who never needed to train up his muscles as fiercely as these two did, having to be quick and agile and good with a sword merely to survive, although the emo kid was pretty quick and agile when it came to skateboarding. Poul didn't really know what a skateboard was, though he had an image in his mind, but he thought it would be nice to not have to fight but merely play and make love all day with his handsome lad. "We will find ourselves back where we belong," Poul insisted. Still, he rose and found the tunic, belt and boots, slipping all those on, part of him very uncomfortable having to wear so much protective clothing in this culture, his previous nearly naked incarnations deeply unhappy with all this. The discomfort would help to carry them forward to more liberal times...
When they were dressed, they found their swords and scabbards, tying them about their hips, then walked back to the coastal village, where the dragon ships were readying to leave. The tall Norse boys held each other once more, not caring if the rough warriors on the ship saw them, for Poul didn't plan for them ever to get on that ship anyway. "Say you love me, Rolf..." the blonde whispered in the other boy's ear. "I promise you we will see each other in happier times..." Rolf kissed the chieftain's son fully on the lips, holding his slender cheeks and saying, "Always, dearest. Take us away from here!" And with the desire strong between them, the subconscious spirit caused another shift. Poul cried out happily, as the two boys felt themselves removed from this danger, and further into the Middle Ages...