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The short man, Tsukishima was his name, described it to him as a “bath house.” Vasily was familiar with bath houses. He was no stranger to the banya. His family wasn’t wealthy and would sometimes use the stove in their family home as a makeshift banya. When he grew older, he would frequent black banya on his travels and throughout his service.
It had been ages since he had the opportunity to use anything similar to a banya. Vasily already felt the tension start to leave his shoulders at the idea of whatever this Japanese “bath house” may bring.
He followed the others through the inn wearing a borrowed yukata. He felt out of place since stepping foot in Japan, but in this group, he was hyper aware of just how foreign he was. While he liked the comfort of the borrowed clothes, he felt over exposed and yearned for his bashlyk. He was tall back home, but the low ceilings here made him feel like a giant and only Sugimoto came close to his height.
And what a sight Sugimoto was. Stripped of his wool coat and olive kimono—layers and layers of fabric hiding the sturdy body underneath. Vasily nearly gasped when Sugimoto stepped out of his room at the inn to join the group. A thin layer of cotton lay across his shoulders. Tied loosely about the waist. The hem rested above his ankles. The sight made the tips of Vasily’s ears burn.
The young, loud man, Koito, Tsukishima had told him, was waiting for them in the front room with Tsukishima. He greeted them impatiently and led them outside.
They came upon a wooden building with lots of greenery surrounding it. As soon as they passed the threshold, they were hit with fragrant, humid air. Koito spoke with the proprietor while the rest of the group moved along. Vasily hoped the flush from the warm air hid how his face reddened when Sugimoto put his hand on Vasily’s lower back, ushering him into the next room.
They entered a room with cubbies along each wall and began disrobing. Vasily’s face flushed deeper, though this ritual was no different than in a banya.
Tsukishima noticed that he had paused at the door when Koito pushed past him with an annoyed sound, “We’ll get undressed here and wash there.” He spoke in Russian, something he seldom did, as he pointed to an area with buckets and towels “Then we go to the bath ahead.”
Vasily was grateful for Tsukishima’s explanation, but he had deduced as much. He stood frozen because Sugimoto dropped his yukata from his shoulders with no ceremony. Sugimoto’s shoulders were tanned golden and dark, raised scars were painted along his skin. Vasily swallowed thickly and tore his eyes away, hastily making work of his own yukata to distract himself.
Vasily thought it might be best if he joined them in the bath after they all finished– fewer opportunities to get distracted. He moved slowly after that, unknotting his sash with care and purpose. He heard the others splashing themselves with water.
“We’re going on ahead. Don’t take too long,” That was Tsukishima again. He heard a sliding door open and close.
Thinking he was alone, Vasily dropped the yukata and began folding it. He made short work of his underclothes and turned around to wash himself.
Only to see Sugimoto, stark naked, sitting on a small wooden stool, washcloth in hand, and covered in suds. He hadn’t left with the others, like Vasily had thought. He had lingered. Vasily’s face burned red.
“You mind getting my back?” He gestured with the washcloth to his back and then back towards Vasily. Vasily didn’t understand his words, but the gesture was obvious. Sugimoto’s face was the picture of casual innocence.
Vasily tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He needed to calm down or his excitement would show. He slowly approached Sugimoto.
This was casual. This sort of thing was normal between soldiers. It was very normal in the banya, it must also be normal in a Japanese bath house. They were simply sharing the space. Sharing the water. Helping each other. Judging by how casual Sugimoto treated the situation, it was nothing more than two traveling companions washing each other before a bath.
But if he didn’t know better, Vasily would think the way that Sugimoto’s fingers brushed his as he took the offered washcloth was purposeful. But that was surely his imagination. Sugimoto was looking to Vasily as nothing more than a friend. Possibly even less than that.
Vasily pulled up a second stool and situated himself behind Sugimoto. He took a shuddering breath and prayed Sugimoto didn’t notice. He never imagined he would ever be this close to the veteran. He could smell the musk of his skin– a scent that was earthy and metallic. Blood that, no matter how thoroughly you scrubbed, never really washed away. It was incredibly erotic. It was so distinctly Sugimoto .
Vasily ghosted the washcloth along Sugimoto’s back, afraid to touch him. He wanted to run his hands along the plains of muscle. He wanted to trace along the scars that crossed along his back and cut across his spine.
Sugimoto leaned back, forcing Vasily to push the washcloth harder into his skin.
“Don’t be so gentle, yeah?” Sugimoto peered over his shoulder at Vasily and grinned. If Vasily’s heart beat any louder, Sugimoto was sure to hear it too. If he leaned any closer, he was sure to feel just how excited Vasily was as well.
Embarrassment overtook him. Vasily scrubbed quickly, suds splashing up the nape of Sugimoto’s neck, and draped the washcloth over Sugimoto’s shoulder before turning around to hide just how red and breathless he had become. He heard a splash of water and what must have been the wash cloth being wrung out.
“Let me get your back now,” Sugimoto had practically whispered it in Vasily’s ear. He didn’t wait for Vasily to respond, not that he could. Sugimoto ran the washcloth down Vasily’s shoulders. Cool water dripped down his back. Sugimoto pressed himself closer to Vasily, letting his chest rut up against Vasily’s back.
Vasily thought he might die right there.
“I’ve seen you look at me,” Sugimoto’s voice was low in his ear. Vasily didn’t know what he was saying but it sounded lewd. Sugimoto dropped the washcloth. It fell to the ground with an impossibly loud and wet slap. Sugimoto took up running his bare fingers along Vasily’s back, “Is this okay?”
Sugimoto was slippery with soap. His chest slid across Vasily’s back and a noise rumbled low in his throat. He was devastated. Sugimoto felt divine. He ran his fingers over Vasily’s shoulders and down his chest. Vasily leaned back into Sugimoto. He could feel Sugimoto’s arousal pressing against his back.
This must be a dream. I’m dreaming.
Sugimoto’s fingers traced along the patterns of Vasily’s chest hair before grabbing handfuls of his pecs and groping greedily. Vasily let out a choked out moan, his voice hoarse from disuse. His eyes fluttered closed and he let himself be overtaken by the sensations. Sugimoto’s soapy hands on his chest, brushing over his nipples. Sugimoto’s breath on his neck. Sugimoto’s chest rubbing, slippery against his back. Sugimoto’s cock hard and wet and hot against his lower back.
Sugimoto swore in Vasily’s ear, deep and breathy, and Vasily leaned his head back onto Sugimoto’s shoulder. Another moan dripped from his mouth, louder this time and with more tone.
Emboldened, Sugimoto’s fingers dipped lower, smoothing down Vasily’s stomach. Vasily reached up and tangled his fingers in Sugimoto’s hair. He needed something to hold onto. The humidity of the bath house. The dizzying way that Sugimoto rocked against him. He was sure he was going to faint without some sort of anchor.
“Su….gi…”
The sounds were foreign and cracked. They stopped Sugimoto’s ministrations altogether.
“What did you say?”
Sugimoto grabbed Vasily’s shoulders and turned him so they could face each other, “Did you say my name?”
Vasily didn’t know what Sugimoto was saying. Even if he understood Japanese, he wasn’t sure if he would understand what Sugimoto was saying. Everything about the situation seemed unreal. Vasily was in a complete daze.
Sugimoto grabbed Vasily by the chin, trying to focus him. He pointed to his own chest, “Sugimoto. My name is Sugimoto,” He then pointed to Vasily’s chest, “Your name. What’s your name?”
Vasily’s eyes widened with recognition. He touched Sugimoto’s chest, “Sugimoto,” The word was a whisper– his voice still broken from his injury. He touched his own chest, “Vasily.”
Sugimoto’s face broke out in a bright grin.
“Vasily.” He pulled Vasily in close, wrapping his arms around Vasily’s neck, “Vasily, Vasily, Vasily!”
And Vasily kissed him because nobody had ever said his name like that. Sugimoto said his name with joy and excitement. He never thought he’d feel those things again. Vasily kissed him hard and deep like he’d never get the chance again. And Sugimoto kissed him back.
And Vasily silently and guiltily decided that he liked these Japanese bath houses a little more than the banya back home.