The Time Travels Continue: Medieval Knights to the 1960's by kooldoggie
When the world reformed around them, the two Viking lads found themselves a few more hundred years in the future, in a pleasant field by a road, beautiful hills and castles around them. The boy who had been Poul now knew himself as Brendan, a young knight freshly returned from the last of the Crusades. Times of peace were at last upon them, and blonde Brendan was glad. He found he had stripped off the chain mail and undershirt from his torso, taking in the early summer sun beside his horse. He was still a well-muscled warrior, just a touch slimmer, his skin ruddier and tanning nicely. His long hair was tousled and just reached his shoulders. The Viking who was Rolf, now known as Feodor, also was stripped to the waist, showing off his trim, lithe but steely muscled chest, golden-brown. Brendan smiled to see he still maintained that topknot ponytail, though now it was brunette, the hair seemed a bit longer, the topknot thicker, the sides no longer shaved but kept natural. He also had some sexy stubble on his angular, masculine face. He drank water from a pouch, his lance in his other hand. Brendan rose and stretched, noticing he had an engraved cross on the necklace just above his chest. Feodor had a similar cross, though his seemed more Celtic. Brendan approached his lover, slipping his arm across the rich leather of his boots and trousers, up to caress his lightly respiring abs. There was just a light swirl of dark hair on his chest. "You look beautiful today, my love," he told his fellow knight. Feodor held his hand, saying, "As do you, my blonde angel. But I know we do not belong here. Please, can you get us home, so we can make love without further worry?" Brendan held his hand tighter, looking across the field to the castle where they were due to feast with a local lord that evening. This was still too rough and brutal a time for such boys, and so Brendan let the longing flow through him, wishing hard for a future time where they could be at peace. He mounted his horse, sitting astride it as the change took place...
This time, the scenery had changed radically. This was more of a desert, only sagebrush around them, mesas in the distance. This had to be the American Southwest, but both boys still sat astride horses. Seth looked at his companion, who had gone from a barechested brunette knight to a still barechested ranch-hand, a cowboy, young Seth thought. His hair was shorter and darker now, though long bangs still fell into green eyes and dark stubble was upon his tanned face. The haircut was almost like the emo cut Justin once had. He only wore a red scarf around his neck, his hat in his hand as he wiped off the sweat. He still had swirls of hair on his hard pecs and down his abs. His belted hide trousers still led down to leather boots, of a different cowboy style. Nathan looked back at Seth, thinking his constant companion and lover on the range looked utterly sexy as well in his cowboy outfit: His blonde hair was worn much longer, straight and natural down to his shoulder blades, his tanned face young and innocent. They were no longer warriors, but they still needed a bit of athleticism out here for herding cattle, and so his chest, exposed under an open leather fringe vest, was smooth and lightly muscled, the arms a bit more slender, with taut tennis balls for biceps. He wore his cowboy hat, shading sea-blue eyes that reminded Nathan of Kieran. He still remembered the hippie boy and wanted desperately to get him back. "We're almost home, dude!" Seth said with a smile, as if reading Nathan's thoughts. The word "dude" seemed more appropriate to this era, so he could use it again. "This has got to be the 19th century! Come on, I'll race you!" The cattle boys kicked into the flanks of their horses, galloping through the dust, just as another ripple occurred...
They were still in the desert, but now the horses had transformed into motorcycles, still in a race through the dust. Seth felt a darker, more angsty energy come over him, almost emo in its mood, and he looked down to see his fringe vest had become a different, more modern leather, a black motorcycle jacket, still unzipped over his bare, muscled smooth torso. He was a boy just out of his teens, definitely a non-comformist type, just as Dale always wanted to be, an alternative type at last acceptable in this era. Dale had his motorcycle, his boyfriend Dan, and he needed nothing else. He was a sometimes beatnik, not materialistic, though he did have a certain vanity for his killer good looks. And Dan appreciated seeing his bare torso as they raced. Both boys now had dark hair, Dale's rich brown locks done in a slicked-back gelled pompadour, while Dan had a slightly shorter dark haircut, with sideburns down his lean, tanned cheeks. Yeah, both boys were greasers, here in the middle of the 1950's. They reveled in fast cars, motorcycles and thrills, for the stifling suburban life was definitely not for them. Perhaps they would make their way to San Francisco, where rebel queer dudes like them might be more accepted, they had heard.
Dale parked the motorcycle outside a highway diner, jumping off the rumbling beast and stretching his tight, coltish form, letting the desert heat warm his bare, hairless pecs, but he left the leather jacket on and open, for that was his style. His deep, blue eyes looked down to see the sweat poured down to wet the edge of his tight jeans, a silver buckled belt around them, and ankle-length boots were on his long size 12 feet. Still, part of him longed to be barefoot again, the way it had been in Greece, and within a few years, he knew, in the 1960's, it would be ok to go about like that again. The desire was already creating the ripple, but he would have to wait for Dan...
The other motorcycle arrived to park beside Dale's. Sexy, lean Dan jumped down and hugged his sweaty lover. The boy seemed slightly older with those thin sideburns running down his cheeks, his black hair slicked back, his brown eyes smoldering. He wore a tight white T-shirt, his fierce muscles bulging through, the shirt tucked into his own tight, beat-up blue jeans, worn over similar black leather boots. A pack of cigarettes was rolled up into his sleeve, and Dan took out one, lighting up the stick as he offered one to his sexy companion. Dale just wrinkled his nose at it, his preference for a more mind-bending drug than just nicotine. He knew he would have it soon, as the ripples, looking like heat coming off the desert, swarmed around them, swallowing up the diner filled with poodle-skirt girls and clean-cut lettermen. Dale needed an even more liberal era to thrive...
The scene was still changing out of an amorphous blur, but young Dale could feel his pompadour growing out, the pomade washing out of it as it collapsed about his leaner face, very long, dark brown hair returning to him. What little motorcycle greaser muscle he had thinned out, the body becoming that of a relaxed, stoned hippie, all that warrior strength no longer necessary for a boy who believed only in peace and lived in privileged times. The leather jacket again became a suede fringe vest, this time with many flower-power and anti-war buttons pinned on it. Keegan felt a sense of relief as the boots came off his feet, leaving him barefoot, as he preferred. The tight jeans flared out into bellbottoms, flower patches on them, and a peace sign on a chain appeared around his neck. He blinked his bright blue eyes and looked around him, finding they were among other college-age hippies on a campus. It might be Berkeley.
Keegan looked across at his lover, Ian, finding his hair, also dark brown, had grown out, not as long as Keegan's, but it reached his shoulders. His face was slimmer, cuter, elfin, except for the prominent dark brows, a bit shaggy over his dark-green eyes. He had lost his shirt, preferring to be totally topless, the word LOVE painted across his tight, cut pecs. His arms were now rather skinny, everything about him wiry and lanky. His bellbottoms pooled around his size 10 bare feet, the toes digging into the grass. Both Keegan's and Ian's eyes seemed clouded, now, both of them in a pleasant haze from all the dope they had smoked earlier. "Yeah, man," Ian drawled in his deep, masculine voice, unusual for a boy looking so skinny and cute. "It's all so good today, we don't need to protest!" He put an arm around Keegan, hugging him tight as he stared dreamily at his boyfriend. Keegan, too, didn't feel like doing anything serious, and he suggested they go back to their off-campus pad to chill. Both boys giggled at each other, feeling so stoned but proper to this decade, although they were still nearly half-a-century from their starting point. Perhaps something would need to wake them up, so they could continue the journey home...