By the time they saw the lake coming up, Owen was eager to get out of the van.
Keeping what Martin said in mind, Owen simply quieted down and largely stared out the windows or at his hands the whole way along the road. Not his usual speed, where he'd be eagerly belting out profane little details and slur-ridden proclamations. Though with recent events in mind, Owen was conflicted even on that. He probably would've been somewhat more tight lipped even with the change to the rules in the History Hunters.
Martin had finally stopped being quite so uptight, and was about ready to relax. He let a small, easy smile show on his face, the first time he'd let his hair down so to speak. Largely because he didn't have to worry about a fight breaking out in the car when two of the men as it were had weaponry and one did not. Whereas the other two would be glad to have a bit less Owen, the leader seemed to have come to a new conclusion since his transformation.
In truth, it was something of a shift in his mentality. He knew Owen well enough to know the exact kind of guy he was. Owen was no leader of the SS (for all that he hoped to find the highest Knight's Iron Cross in their trips around Europe), no scheming second in command - he was a follower. Owen wanted that badge to convince himself he had outstanding achievements. A man desperate to find some semblance of a place in the world. And as coldhearted as it probably sounded even to contemplate, Martin knew now that people like Owen were easy to manipulate - so long as you kept what they wanted close and in ample supply.
And with "what he wanted" being Martin himself...well. It was a fairly easy thing. Martin largely preferred women. But if the cost of getting a reliable tool to use at leisure, with a great degree of reliability was to let an awkward, poorly sex educated skinhead explore his sexuality...small price to pay indeed.
Lucky meanwhile found himself glancing at a curious, eager Scottie. He didn't get what was going on over there in the Martin and Owen corner, but he was also a little bit concerned with Scottie. He had been intently glancing at the Eon Chronicle, possibly intending another use, more playing with it - and Lucky was in tandem both worried there might be some degree of addictive effect due to the pleasurable nature of the changes...and also a little jealous that Scottie was probably gonna change again and have first crack instead. He knew it was probably not good to hinge on it - not that that stopped Lucky from wanting another shot.
Just to see what, where and when he'd experience next. Not even realizing the name for their little device of masturbatory choice had come apropos of nothing.
"Alright," Martin announced as they stopped by the shoreline of the lake. "I don't intend to waste the opportunity of this kind of a swimming spot...but seeing as we probably don't have swimming trunks, gents, I guess it's time for skinnydipping." Martin for his part glanced knowingly at Owen...
Who was immediately and outright mortified by the idea. The more quiet and pensive Owen immediately flushed red and pressed his back against the door of the car, "S-S-Skinnydipping!? I uh---I have---I have boxers! I can---I can just---I mean, I have enough boxers to just---"
"Relax, stormtrooper," Martin chuckled, and glanced around, "It's not like this is even when people are gonna be around. Nobody from the local areas are gonna see your swastika tatt. Let alone anything else."
"I---I just...this is---this is against my---my sincerely held---" Owen stammered, and both Scottie and Lucky looked astonished and somewhat interested. This was certainly the first time they'd seen Martin reduce Owen to such a nervous wreck. Honestly, this was looking like it was gonna be more fun than they'd anticipated.
"Owen." Martin stared Owen in the eyes, and said, "Are you really gonna say no to this? I mean, I'll be out there naked as can be. You'll get to see all my battle scars, the muscles that are proof of my mettle. I mean, just as well, I thought I told you to behave well."
Owen immediately sunk in his seat, any protests about changing the goalposts died in his throat. "Alright...alright. Let's just get this over and done with. The less degenerate flashing we do the better..." Internally, Owen couldn't help but feel more than a little exposed going into this. He was confident enough in his muscles, that was clear from his tank top and tight black pants, but actually baring everything left him feeling a surprising degree of utter nervousness. He tried to push down his emotional response as usual, but found that more difficult now.
This was different from those early times with the gang. This seemed more open, more inviting of mockery from those who might come by and see him.
As Martin got out of the car and, looking back inside, saw Scottie poised over the device, puzzling over it, he asked, "You joining us...?"
"Nope," Scottie said absentmindedly, "I've got something to try and understand here. Something I really want to figure out the nuances of first hand. After all, playing with it like this is fine if it's not damaged by the time we get it to Hartmann, right...?"
Owen blurted out, "I swear, I'm telling you guys, nothing good will come of---"
"Owen." Martin said testily, "Remember what we talked about, with you trying to police their use of the device..."
"Don't." Owen murmured quietly.
"Good boy," Lucky gloated, patting Owen's shoulder and grinning, "You learned SOME manners along the way, you awful little knave. Maybe some time soon you'll be presentable." He did admit he was probably not mature, lording all this over Owen so much. After all, he had five years or so over the young man. But considering all the awful stuff Owen said before? This was more than justified payback.
Leaving the car shortly behind Martin, Owen glanced at the lake as if it were full of lava, clenching his teeth tight as he walked the walk of a doomed man. He barely heard Lucky exiting the van shortly after him. He stood by the shoreline, and as he rolled his neck back and forth, tensing and flexing his lats as he worked up the nerve, he heard the sound of Martin and Lucky gleefully removing their clothes, laughing and ribbing each other - then the sound of the two running and leaping into the water.
"Going to be a good boy, Owen?"
Owen heard that from Martin somewhat distantly. It almost went in one ear and out the other, for all the effect it had on him. A hand clenched tight, his boots scraped against the sand and dust on the shoreline of the lake. Then he started stripping.
Off came the shirt, showing his powerful, well toned body - large pectorals occasionally rising to reflect his demeanor in all of this. His left pectoral besmirched by the tasteless tattoo that reminded everyone what Owen Bolton was. Off came the black pants, and Owen's muscled legs, sparse hairs running down each leg keeping his tone and size readily visible. For all his talk about masculinity, Owen didn't grow very impressive body hair.
Off came his boots and socks, and Owen stood there feeling bare.
He stood there for a moment in his boxers, shivering and feeling alone even with his friends in the lake. A quick hand brushed over his smooth scalp, and Owen breathed. At first he hooked the sides of his boxers with his hands, then he tried to jerk them down to get it all over quicker - only for himself to stop there and then. Quaking on his feet as he slowly inches his boxers lower and lower, he waited for the jeers. The laughs at the size he was working with. He had precious little frame of reference.
And after all, why WOULDN'T he assume inside that his manhood was not of adequate size?
Indeed, the one thing Owen had dreaded the most about sex with Emily was her laughing at his manhood. He had almost felt relieved when she told him he was "blessed with pretty good size". Though he eventually assumed she was lying to him just to try and---control him somehow. He didn't care to come up with some hackneyed explanation for that, how he might explain away her basic act of validation as some further scheme----
"Almost there, big guy, you're mostly naked!" Lucky called out from inside the lake.
Breathing, Owen fully removed his boxers and let them rest by his other clothes. A quick running jump with his breath held into the lake and Owen found the water rushing up fast - crisp, cool but not too cold, and clean. At first, he just swam forward underwater, content to let the water wash over him. Feeling it all around him, cradling every part of his body with no exception, it was honestly relieving.... He could see why Lucky and Martin were so eager for the whole nude swimming idea.
It was this kind of feeling of solitude within the water that left him feeling more soothed than nervous.
Kicking his feet and pushing through the water, Owen honestly felt like he was free to let his worries and foibles fall off of him like the dirt from the last day's events. And in the water like that, Owen could remember... he could somewhat see the last time he was really, truly happy. He and his mom went to the pool once, coincidentally enough. He learned to swim, he was a natural even, and he got applauded, told he did well. He had no blemishes, he had short light brown near blond hair, even his blue eyes seemed less icy.
This was a week before he would never see his mother again. A week before the events that transpired.
And then he started making himself unhappy.
He found himself seeing the few times he tried desperately to recapture the experience of going there with his mother. One time he visited with Emily, who didn't get why he seemed to view the place with the degree of sentiment that he did. It was also one of the only times he was something resembling emotionally open with her.
A couple times, he and some of the guys from the gang visited - which lasted up until they started telling him that swimming around and associating with a place like that full of shirtless guys was "faggy". And so Owen forced himself to keep away, to dislike it, even when it was the strongest memory he had of him and his mother. It was not the last time he made himself hate something purely to fit in with a crowd that always demanded more disdain from him.
Owen surfaced, muscular body wet and droplets of water falling from his face as he greedily breathed in - having somewhat overestimated how long he could keep swimming underwater. His legs kicked and kept him floating there in the middle of the lake. "Wow...man, that was really impressive. If you could hold your breath and swim like that, why'd you---" Martin questioned from his own place in the pool.
"It's not that---it's not the swimming that made me nervous." Owen responded. "It's how---how exposed I am."
"You have almost nothing to be worried about." Almost nothing, Martin figured, except someone random walking by and seeing. Owen was a man ruled by dueling shame and pride. And that made for a quixotic individual. Eager and brash and proud of his power one moment, stammering when his body was exposed the next. "In case you're worried about your size...I'm pretty sure you're reasonably capable."
Martin glanced down at Owen's manhood, visible through the water. Sometimes he just didn't get what the skinhead was so worried about. But other times he remembered that if anything, that belief system did serious damage to its adherents' self valuation.
"I mean, I swam---can I just---?" Owen started paddling toward the shore.
Martin followed shortly after, "Now now, let's not just run off so fast. We haven't even had any games or horseplay around here of yet..." A coy smirk showed on his face. He was used to a certain amount of games played in the water. Back in college, the guys would eagerly play around in the lake near the college...
"Maybe make it worth his time." Lucky teased in a certain way - possibly hinting he might've figured out some element of what was going on.
A quick glance from Martin to Lucky, and the Roman Soldier stated in a complete business-like tone, "Not a word of this outside here, understood?"
"Sir yes sir!" Lucky replied quickly, knowing crossing Martin on this was unwise. Especially considering he was the one who handled the pay.
Owen paused as he swam close enough to shore to be only somewhat submerged in the water. Standing there with his soaked upper body out of the water, his legs and manhood submerged. He found his voice catching in his throat, the idea making him bite his lip and blush. He could feel a bit of a stirring, his manhood twitching with interest. His gaze was focused on Martin - and eventually he managed to say, in a quiet little tone so very unlike his usual, "...Please?"
This seemed to make Martin grin, and he headed out over toward the shallower end of the pool. Leaving Lucky at the deep end.
"Alright. I figure you've been more than a good enough boy, Owen," Martin glanced over the skinhead's body, evaluating every harsh muscular curve, divot and toned edge. "What do you want?" He whispered as he drew close, his question making Owen bite his own lip lightly. Martin continued after a moment, "What do you want me to do, Owen?"
"...Can---Can you touch my body again? Like---like you did back there. I want you to feel me." Owen blushed again as he tried to rush through his request as much as he could.
Martin for his part honestly anticipated something more explicit. Something more open, more crass, a more harsh sexual request. But here Owen was basically just asking that Martin feel him up. "Alright. I'll feel you as much as you want. You can return the favor, as well. Let me know...when you're going to cum." And with that, Martin moved up close to Owen...close enough to feel the young man's breath, harsh as it was...
--------------
Scottie didn't know what it was, but he felt a call toward that little sphere that he couldn't explain, but which excited him all the same.
He really could hear something by now, a call toward it that was faint yet enticing. He knew on some level he should be alarmed, well, at least a little - but he was far too interested and far too excited by the prospects and possibilities of the device to hold back by this point. He'd seen Lucky turn into a powerfully muscular French Knight, and seen Martin go through that intense, sexual change into a Legionnaire. The fact was just one transformation wasn't good enough for Scottie. He wanted more, wanted to experience something new.
He glanced out the window of the van, toward the shoreline, and happened at that moment to see Owen's nude ass and muscular, appealing body from behind. Without the tattoo as a reminder due to posture, Scottie was reminded why despite finding him distasteful he wanted the skinhead all the same. He could fundamentally disagree with him on a lot of things, and still want to fuck him. But there was something still absent.
He needed a bit more oomph. More power. More changes. Something new to really push him over the edge. Whatever was going on with him, it was clear there was something involving Martin. He doubted it was truly reciprocated. Martin was straight, after all. But he figured it was never too late for the old college try.
Scottie pressed the button on the end of the Eon Chronicle, and grinned when he heard the sound that preceded the arrangement of his choices. He looked away from the shoreline, back toward his prize. Eager to see when he would be shifting toward, and what he might end up being. Watching the numbers fly by as the holographic red numbers displayed, Scottie found himself more and more enraptured by the lights and drawn in by the implications of each.
His hand gripped his erect cock as he shed his clothes in anticipation, quickly pulling his shirt off without even dropping the Eon Chronicle and kicking off his pants. Sitting there in the back of the van, the young man grinned as he tried to find something worth doing. He had little idea which ones would offer the most dynamic of changes, but eventually, something in the call directed him toward one number in particular somehow.
803A. 803 AD? He couldn't recall off the top of his head if there was anything he was supposed to know about that...but something in the way it beckoned him just---it hit right. If he could become bigger than Owen, bigger than Martin, bigger than Lucky...that'd be amazing.
Scottie pressed the number with a quick lick over his lips in anticipation.
This time, there was barely any pain at all - and all the more pleasure. Scottie almost jizzed right then and there as he pried his hand off of his manhood, not eager to be a quickshot in the midst of his transformation. He quivered and gasped as he felt the changes ripple through his body. Muscles twitching all at once and urging themselves bigger---bigger---bigger! He moaned, toes wiggling on his feet and fingers gripping the seats near him to keep himself from succumbing to the desire to just beat off then and there.
His skin started to shift, pulsating and quivering once, twice, then over and over in successive loops. Sweat starting to form beads and drip down his body - even as his skin tone changed, shifted lighter, lighter, until Scottie was white. A blush showing on his face as the heavy sweat continued, he almost looked a little pale - as if he might've lived for the longest time in a cold, wintery environ. His eyes, as they quivered and closed, blinking over and over, shifting between blinks and becoming bright blue.
His broad muscles were discolored in some places by old scars, including one across his back, and yet he barely noticed the slight pains that hinted at a battle weary nature. He groaned and thrashed his head back as he felt an itch in his scalp. His hair was changing, he knew it, by the tingling that ran through every follicle of hair, through to his scalp, and left him giggling to himself as he tried to regain control of his faculties. He was just too damned turned on at this point...
...And it was also all he could do to just keep on grabbing those seats near him.
Scottie saw a few locks of golden blonde hair fall near his eyes, and he found himself musing on what he was becoming, "A blond...a blond guy...? I-I ooh...this---this is what Owen always talked about, I guess. Maybe he won't mind so much---!" But then Scottie thrust against the air as he quaked, his thighs and quads muscling up to accommodate the kind of legs needed for running ashore during a raid. He could see his manhood, surrounded by thick, slightly curly blond hair, growing longer, larger, more sensitive looking.
Scottie felt up his shoulders with his hands, feeling his biceps and triceps press against himself as he did so. He could feel some light stubble forming, growing out into a beard that drew short to his face. Nothing too long, but just enough to give the impression of sheer...sheer Viking masculinity...!
He could hear his gear changing, the equipment from his last change and his clothes shifting - becoming a brown long sleeved top, and a brown kilt for the waist. Along with that though came hefty brown and blue armor and war gear, shoulder plates sewn with thick white furs. He found himself looking at an axe and a sword on the floor, likely intended for both to be worn and used at once...
But Scottie's contemplations about his new equipments were cut short as he let out a roar of pure pleasure as his orgasm rippled up through his cock and almost seemed to completely overwhelm him - the blond goliath finally releasing the now slightly damaged corners of the seat in front of him. Breaths coming slowly and leaving him realizing he made quite the mess back there he'd need to clean up---
His post-nut clarity and eagerness were however met with something else. He could still hear something. A faint sound, almost like a reverberation at first, but then it turned louder, clearer, and more like a voice...!
Ahh...ah, do you---you can hear me? Yes? That is true? Ah good, good, it has been indeed far too long. Far too long. The voice seemed to come from nothing and yet from everything. He could have heard it equally clearly once it focused no matter where he was and what he was doing, it felt like.
In his new state, Scottie blearily asked aloud as he wavered back and forth, "Are---Are you the Aesir? The Gods of this body---this marvelous fucking Nordic hunk's people?"
A pause from the voice, and he could almost hear a distant, smirking chuckle. But then he heard the voice return in short order; Ahh yes, yes, that is a pure, good explanation. The Aesir, as you call us---call me. I am honored you can hear me, boy-thing. And excited. I will be in touch. I am glad that one of our adherents has made it so far.
He supposed that just meant like, Nordic people with the old faith. Scottie wasn't too worried when the voice faded and disappeared. He could now focus on other things that mattered. A quick glance at a window confirmed - Scottie was now gifted with all the size, all the muscle mass he could want---at least, for now. A quick flex and he found himself looking back out of the window where he could still somewhat see his image.
He saw Owen and Martin there near the shallow end...and Scottie found himself thinking. Owen had always talked about aryans this and that, despite the unscientific nature of it all. A fundamental ignorance that possibly hinted at a desire. Yet now, Scottie had everything that young Owen exulted in for the longest time, saw as the exalted image of manhood - and there was potential in that. He could possibly play this into a sexual encounter with Owen.
Finally take that skinhead for his own.
Scottie found himself thinking more and more that taking was something that was a new normal to him. He was suited for it, after all. Vikings were known for their ways in as far as raiding and stealing, even ransacking monasteries to get what they wanted. And right now, what Scottie wanted was that hunky little skinhead and a hot encounter at least at some point. He wasn't exactly keen to disrupt what was going on now - but he could play the voyeur and watch...