I was inspired to write this recently, especially after realizing I haven't done any Turks fiction. I just liked the idea of it and tossed it around in my head for a few days. So. Here we go.
There will be more to come.

The shower. It always ends in the shower. After all, it was the only way it seemed to rinse the foul stink of guilt and awkwardness from one's body. Rivulets carried worry and afterthought down the Turk's skin and finally washed into the drain. And even after scrubbing, he stood there thoughtfully, comprehending all that had happened—one hand rested under the shower nozzle and one on the back wall of the stall so that the heat rained down his back and long, dark hair. Four weeks of this already and he still had a hard time feeling clean in any manner afterwards. And so here he was, again. The shower. How cliché.

He wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the scene related to dramas, horrors, or… pornographies. A tall, attractive man washing himself and lost in thought; such was Tseng's disposition but he didn't like it, not at all. From the office to the shower a bad taste lingered in his mouth that couldn't be dissipated until he slept. Even then, thoughts of what he had done, or what he had allowed to happen haunted his mind for days. Haunted him until it happened again and he had fresh thoughts to worry over.

Stepping out of the water's path and into the sauna that his penthouse bathroom had become, Tseng wrapped a soft towel around his waist but otherwise did not dry himself. His thick hair was sopping, dripping all over the tile floor. But this wasn't new, and he didn't care. He was preoccupied with other thoughts such as remembering when and why this had started.

It had, in fact, begun with a very drunk Rufus Shinra. Back then, he could pin the entire scenario on intoxication and not felt too awkward about it. The President's son had been so inebriated that he'd needed a bodyguard to help him to his own penthouse after his father's birthday affair. Everyone in the company knew Rufus to not favor his father, and the young man had been so ashamed to have to go that he had turned to the bottle to cure himself of recalling the event. And then came Heidegger, jovial with his own glass of scotch, who had ordered Tseng to escort the Vice President back to safety.

Tseng had never liked the executives, but he did as he was told. Always.

Being the sober one, the Turk had pulled the Vice President's prying hands from his suit countless times after getting him back to the penthouse, certain that he would eventually let Tseng leave and go to bed (or pass out). But he was pushy, selfish, and demanding, quite like his father, and before he was aware of what was happening, Rufus had conned the Turk into entering the abode farther and found that he was quickly losing articles of his uniform to the floor.

Nothing but force would have convinced Rufus to leave him alone, but he wasn't one to treat the man badly. His life also depended on his job, so to speak, and he would truly provide anything asked of him. So he hadn't fought. That had been his crucial mistake—giving in and letting go. Vice President Shinra was drunk anyway, so surely this would be a one time occurrence?

Back in that moment, it had seemed so likely, and then Tseng found himself in Rufus's shower washing the sweat and shame down the drain. He had his suit pressed first thing in the morning and reported to Heidegger early with falsified dignity. Yes, the Vice President was in one piece. Yes, he was currently sleeping off his hangover. And yes, Tseng would get on to his paperwork right away.

In a month's time, things had evolved. It was no longer drunken encounters. In fact, the second time, Rufus had been more than sober in inviting the Turk to his office for what was supposed to be a professional meeting. What had begun as civil had turned into sleazy fling in the dimly-lit room—a tangle of arms and legs and hair pulling atop the blonde's desk. Once more, surprise had taken the Turk like a whirlwind and he had been too submissive to stop it.

By this time, it was too late to end these episodes without things getting ugly. Rufus had something he wanted. He'd found a strong, discreet older man in a position he'd worked to get into (not one inherited like Rufus's own) that he could toss around and use. A man that would do as he was told without a word of backlash, who would quite literally bend over if asked and remain as stoic as possible even as he began to feel filthy inside. Rufus was high on the fumes of manipulation and pleasure. The only way out would be if he lost interest, or if Tseng lost his job… which would most likely cost him his life as well, knowing the company.

At this point, the Wutain had no choice. At this point, all he could do was bend to the will of his master and come when he was called. He played an obedient and discreet puppy. Not even the other Turks working for Tseng had caught a hint of the sordid affair. Not even the President suspected his son of such acts, but the man likely wouldn't have done anything if he did know.

It was entirely contained and entirely private. Rufus had the Turk in the palm of his hand, from which there was no escape. And while Tseng knew how wrong it all was, some part of him—certainly some twisted part of his mind long since warped by his past—enjoyed it. This only made him feel more hideous and corrupt, and only chased him into the shower for longer and longer dances with soap and near-scalding water.

Tonight alone he'd been lost to the bathroom for at least half an hour. And then, it was time to get some rest. Rufus would be leaving for Junon on an emissary trip in the early hours of the morning, so the Turk would have his freedom for at least a few days.