[fic] Orient and Occident; Japan, Turkey, Greece
The Japanese bath, to many Western nations, was slightly uncomfortable- especially to Westerners like Americans, or the British, or any rather bodily-conscious nation. It couldn’t be helped, it was how they were raised, and Japan finds it simultaneously amusing and amazing as to how he had always been imbued with the impression that Westerners had always been rather free with articles of clothes, or the lack thereof.
So he was surprised when America gazed wide-eyed at the public baths, and, only after some persuasion and flushing, did he undress. But he could not be persuaded to let Japan help him with his back, and ended up going into the bath wearing his towel more like a toga (Japan kindly refrained from informing him this actually revealed more rather than the intended less), and though he kept up what was an impressive chatter for most of the time, in the first twenty minutes, he fell silent for the next ten, and then quit the baths entirely.
America, being only an example, had been only one such case; France hadn’t minded at all being naked, but kept up a running commentary on how weird everything was, and hit constantly on Japan and made various innuendos. Britain, being slightly more used to the Japanese bath, had been awkward, at first, and bathed generally alone after.
The more Eastern European nations hadn’t had so much of a problem, Russia having thoroughly disseminated his steam baths, though Japan had found little opportunity or desire to bath with them.
So Japan was equally surprised when Greece, a Western nation of all of them, not only accepted the baths, but sat in one like he’d been in one his entire life (granted, some of his etiquette was rough; he left himself exposed without seeming to think to cover himself, as if it were perfectly natural, though it wasn’t such an issue, regarding the rather well-formed limbs reminiscent of Archaic sculpture), and even further so when Greece offered to do his back.
“Do.. you want me to get your back?” The hesitance in the question had been more weltschmerz rather than embarrassment and Japan, more relieved that Greece was adapting as eerily well as he was, hastily agreed rather than take the precautionary time he might have to think it through.
“Ah, please.” And Greece had taken the hand towel (another little quirk- he didn’t fold it neatly, but let it fall over his hand) and had applied it to Japan’s back so vigorously, the older man forgot to be embarrassed at being touched by an esteemed colleague in lieu of concern for the health of his skin. It seemed to be rhythmic, follow a pattern only Greece himself seemed to know intimately between the two; in the practiced way his hands travelled the alien curves of Japan’s back, Japan could only surmise there was something he was missing. This was further reinforced by the naturalness in which he lifted one of Japan’s arms after completing his left shoulder, and was already well on his way to the crook of Japan’s elbow before he caught himself.
“Ah…” And stopped so abruptly, that it was the lack of contact rather than continuous motion that surprised Japan more. “Sorry.” But Japan, as old as he was at this point, could allow such slips and segues (they happened more often to him than he would care to admit, as well; the salute he would give every time he saw the Navy’s flag sometimes sent chills through him, as well as the Banzai that flowed effortlessly from him), and let his own curiosity tinge the conversation.
“Not at all; if you don’t mind me asking, however, what was that, Greece-san? There seemed to be a sort of technique you were using.” That the naturally shy nation had not immediately dissolved seemed to be more of a relief to Greece than Japan would have expected. Greece, however, rather correspondingly seemed stricken with such a deep melancholy (another emotion and phenomenon Japan was all too familiar with) that he was, for an instant, not entirely able to speak.
“Mm.” The youth murmured, fixing his own bath supplies rather in a filler than anything else. “…It was when I was very young…. Non-Muslims often had to serve as the tellaks to the baths.” He frowned slightly, seeming to consider something. “I shouldn’t be able to remember to do these things.” He looked up again, face so naked Japan felt suddenly choked by it. “I was a tellak to Turkey since I was little; if I had continued…” He laughed suddenly, softly, but so devoid of humor he was obviously attempting a face-saving maneouver. “But you’re probably not interested in hearing such old stories.”
Japan shook his head, suddenly realizing the expression as one of grief and shame, and had wondered why he hadn’t recognized it before (Yao was particularly good it; Kiku stifled the thought before he allowed it to live), and shook his head. “No, not at all, Greece-san, please continue. As you were saying, ‘Had you continued…’” Greece seemed to subside back into the ocean of his thoughts, for he looked away as he answered.
“If I had continued, I would have probably given you my other services as well. Tellaks were sex-workers, you know. Though,” he added, his head titling in ascension, seeming to miss the expression of Japan’s, reminiscent of one shot through. “I only ever served Turkey. He… guarded us quite jealously.” And suddenly, Japan felt chilled by the sudden implications this conversation had, and the silence that stretched between them for an instant seemed like a drumbeat (or a heartbeat, or perhaps the cry of a child) before he caught himself.
“How are things between you two, Greece-san?” Kiku rather had to force his voice was the same, quiet neutral it often was. Greece shook his head, as if from a waking dream.
“The same as always.” He returned, face thunderous and closed at once. He seemed ready to pack up to go into the bath proper when a slight commotion at the enterence attracted both Greece and Japan’s attention.
“Ya said he was ‘n ‘ere, right? Well’n thanks.” And Japan could hardly utter the slightest invective at the familiar vocie before Greece bristled (quite unconsciously, if Japan cared to break down his full-body reaction; his back stiffening, eyes widening and pupils contracting, hands suddenly clenching the tiled bath-ledge), glaring at the door at the same time a man walked through. “Oi, Japan, I came ta give ya a visit!”
Turkey appeared in the door, wearing a bath yukata only half around him (and really, that was coming undone as well, the center drooping to show the man’s legs flashing bronze past the periwinkle cloth as he moved), stepping imperiously and speaking loudly, hands almost triumphantly on his hips. And then, in the beat of silence that his arrival make, caught sight of Greece alongside Japan, and cursed softly, face closing as well (had his mask been off, Japan was sure his eyes would have shut upon seeing Greece, judging from the fall of the rest of his features). “Fukk.”
And then, the moment mostly passed as Turkey finally stepped in through the doorway, posture slightly tighter than usual, though no less imperious, stripping his yukata off in one flourish and seating himself on the other side of the frail-bodied nation, depositing his bucket next to his chosen stool while Japan furiously smoothed the atmosphere, and robbing Greece of the opportunity to respond first.
“Ah, Turkey-san, how nice of you to join us. We were about to take a bath- would you care to come in as well?” Though, privately he was already hoping one would not attempt to drown the other in the bath, as it would make some difficult explaining to the manager of the institution, and had already mapped out several nearby hospitals in this very likely event.
“Mm, yeah. I ain’t gonna run just cause’a some little dickweek. I ain’t never been in one’a these baths- kinda like the ones at home, though.” He allowed, concentrating mostly on filling his own tub with water; he seemed to be talking simply to talk (perhaps as a restraining method so as to not take drastic actions against the youth still glaring stoically at him), before finally glancing over. “Whaddya waitin’ for, kid- do m’ back. I don’ wanna sit here all day.”
And, instead of lashing out as Japan had expected him to do (and already estimating damage costs in his head when things invariably broke; one of these new taps must have cost 10,000 yen at least), Greece smirked with unbridled mirth. “Right- your tiny little arms. I forgot.”
“They aren’t tiny!” Turkey protested immediately, and Japan felt as if he were missing some crucial part of a conversation that was deflating the atmosphere at an impressive rate. Though, generally, he was simply too amazed at the non-violent course this conversation was taking to actually much mind anything else. “They’re stiff. Alla that muscle.” And with a small sound of disgust (as if Herakles should know as much), he sat, legs straddling the stool, one hand propped on his knee, and gestured again. “C’mon kid, I don got all day.”
And, to Japan’s eternal surprise, Greece complied; relieving Turkey of his towel, he wrapped it once loosely about his hand and started to scrub, and the postures they eventually adapted reminded Kiku more of a couple well accustomed to each other’s bodies than that of bitter enemies; in fact, Herakles seemed to have slipped so quickly and thoroughly back into his old role as Turkey’s tellak, he had ended up concentrating on the task, thus separating himself from reality, and had straddled one of Turkey’s thighs in order to work on the man’s chest before he caught himself.
In Sadik and Kiku, there was a heartbeat, a pause, a catch of the breath while Herakles continued, oblivious to the situation he had put himself into. As if not quite believing it, Sadik leaned slowly back in the plastic seat to allow the youth to scrub his stomach, with the deliberateness of one approaching a wild and possibly feral animal. It was finally this motion, against Sadik’s best efforts, that roused Herakles from his working stupor; looking up at the man’s face, he flushed, went pale, and resumed a rather paler shade of his normal complexion.
“Not quite the same, is it?” He asked with a softness that suited the pregnant silence, and a humming tension in his voice. “When I was your tellak last, I was still hairless.” And with a motion that Kiku might have thought intentional if it hadn’t been purely to gain his own balance (having Sadik’s thigh thrust between his meant he rather had to strain to remain solely on his knees), Herakles thrust his hips forward (Sadik’s jaw corded, and he rather hastily clenched the plastic seat beneath him in order not to upset) and rose in one smooth, efficient movement, dropping Sadik’s towel on the man’s head. And, passing Sadik, he walked with a stiff sort of feline grace to the bath and stepped in without another backwards glance.
Kiku looked between the two of them, wondering what had passed (if something had broken between them, or another layer had been added), before Sadik, ringing his teeth deliberately with his tongue, finally spoke the dreaded words Kiku was sure would instigated the fight.
“Nah- it ain’t quite the same, yer right.” Herakles looked over his shoulder, eyes a melancholy green mess, “If it were, you woulda given me a good fuck. N’ I wouldna had m’ mask on.” And, tipping the mask ever so slightly so that only Herakles could see the face beneath, continued lowly. “What of it, kid? You lonely for th’ ol’ days?”
But Herakles, watching him, did not rise to the bait, and eventually turned away. “No.” He said, so quietly that Kiku had to strain to hear, though he was certain, from the look on Turkey’s face, that he could clearly hear every word (as if he had heard it a thousand times before, emblazoned on his brain). “I was just wondering if you remembered the same thing.”
There wasn’t much in the way of chatter after that, even out of politeness. Japan supposed he could not bring himself to, because there was something that hung on the air, now, like the incense of a thousand ghosts, a thousand good-nights, a thousand goodbyes. Sadik, as if sensing this, this wound that had severed the arterial vein between himself and the kid, settled in more closely to Herakles, an arm slipping around the youth’s shoulders in a silent apology. Kiku, seeing this, could only settle down beside the pair, and wait for the world to catch its breath again.