What's the Harm?
#KiriBaku #NSFW
Futuristic-Cyber-Noir AU I guess
QRT to comment, will cross post when done
CW: alcohol, drug use, sex, moral ambiguity

In the glow of the neon of the The Heights, it was easy to lose track of time. And maybe that’s the point. Part of the appeal, part of the allure of the illusion that they peddled here. 

The escapism.

And who the fuck wouldn’t wanna escape this place sometimes?

Yuuie, the jewel of the eastern borderlands, cobbled together with the blood of the poor limping along like an over-bloated corpse stuffed with wires and neon. While those at the top pretend the people are dying, aren’t selling themselves body and soul for-

Special Agent Bakugou Katsuki scoffed to himself, pulled the worn black leather of his cropped jacket tighter. He was getting distracted again. Caught up in the hows and the whys and the wheres. These people were criminals, pure and simple. 

And yeah. Sure.

They had their reasons; everyone has their reasons. But it wasn’t his place to think about that kind of shit. It was his place to take ‘em down and lock ‘em up.

It was his job, his duty.

What was expected of him since he was born. Keep the Bakugou name clean, join the Commission, rise in the ranks, and keep the dynasty alive.

“Password?” A gruff voice demanded, pulling the agent from his thoughts.

The blond cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes at the narrow slit in the rusted out blast door that marked the entrance to The Agency. “Plus Ultra,” he murmured.

A long pause from the doorman, narrowed steel eyes silently assessing. Bakugou stared back, narrowing his kohl darkened eyes and shifting his weight. 

If that fucker gave him the wrong password, he was gonna-

The slot slammed closed, flakes of oxidized metal falling free and the door whirred open with surprising ease. Tentatively, Bakugou stepped inside.

The doorman, some big, burly fuck with silver hair and a demin vest, eyed him sharply. Crossing his gleaming prosthetic arms across his bare chest, he smirked, “Welcome to The Agency, sir. Have a pleasant evening.”

“Tch.” The agent cut his gaze away. The fuck was that all about?

Stepping further inside, he scanned the inside of the club, sharp ruby eyes mapping the surprisingly plush lounges, the flickering holo-game tables, noting the heavy black curtain obscuring a black painted door in the back corner.

Other than being surprisingly clean, it wasn’t anything fancy, not by a long shot, just some shitty little hole-in-the-wall full of gamblers, adreno-dopers, and cybernuts. 

Nothing worth note; nothing on the surface that warranted the presence of an elite agent.

Nothing except a report from a snitch that The Agency was loaded with Q.

Now, this wasn’t the first report of its kind, wouldn’t be the last. Hell.. Everyone who goes down for Q tries to make a deal, take someone else down with ‘em. No honor amongst trash, the agent supposed.

Bakugou’d investigated hundreds of claims, thousands of witnesses, just in the five short years he’d been an agent, but this one. This was the first time someone claimed to actually see Red Riot.

Rising to power the same time Bakugou joined up, Red Riot had slowly taken over The Heights. And now, his reach was expanding. Dark tentacles wiggling their way into the cracks in the city’s underbelly, taking hold of other territories.

And everywhere Red Riot’s reach was felt, Q was there. And now there were whispers, murmurs and whispers, that he and that mad fucking doctor were cookin’ up something else. Something even more potent than Quirk.

If there was even the faintest possibility, the smallest truth to it, Bakugou was gonna find out.

Sidling up the bar, the agent scowled at the counter. There were no screens, no scrambling little bots ready for his command, just a glassy looking surface with weird red-browns and dark lines. Looked like that skin mod he’d seen in some of the ritzier places, what was it called?

Wood? Wood grain? Somethin’ like that. Only this was solid, no monitors, no glass.

“Whatcha drinkin, blondie?”

Bakugou started back, fists instinctively clenched. “What?” he barked. 

The man behind the bar arched a brow, easy smile plastered across his face.

“I said,” he leaned on the bar, long, dark hair shifting to obscure his pierced left cheek. “‘Whatcha drinkin’?”

Bakugou looked him over, tall, lean, sharp geometric shapes tattooed down his right arm and up his neck.

His long hair is shaved on the same side, sparkling steel hoops and studs lined the rim of exposed ear. His eyes were soft looking, his face handsome, frame wiry and quick.

Honestly, he looked like a classic holo-gamer; but far from the agent’s type. “What’s it to you?” Bakugou huffed.

“What’s it…?” The man’s smile broadened, laughter bubbling up from his throat. “Oh man,” he slapped the bar with a gloved hand.

“You must be new here.” He shook his head. “Just gimme your order.”

The blond frowned. The hell was this idiot’s problem? “Oi, Soy Sauce. I ain’t interested, okay?”

“Dude,” the man, still smiling, cocked his head “I’m not interested either, but it’s my fuckin’ job, okay?”

“Your job?”

“Yeah,” the tattooed man spread his arms, “I’m the bartender, but they call me Hanta.

“Bartender?” A fuckin’ person pourin’ drinks? Seriously?

“Yeah,” Hanta shrugged. “It’s real easy, you tell me your drink. I pour it up. You pay.” 

The blond scowled. “Fine. Gimme a howitzer.”

Flashing that easy smile, Hanta got to work, even going as far as flipping the bottles and making a show of the whole thing.

Okay.. Maybe this place was weird.

Bakugou took the glass in hand, warily eyeing its contents. It looked normal.But still..

Eyes locked on the smiling bartender, the agent pressed his lips against the rim, changing a tentative sip.

Shit.

The ginger, vanilla, hell, even the orange liqueur were perfect. Probably the best he’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Hanta crossed his arms and laughed.

“Tch. It’s fine.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the bartender laughed and pushed off of the countertop. “It’s still 50 creds though.”

Bakugou scoffed and held his wrist out for a scan, only for it to be gently pushed aside. “It’s fine, Hanta,” a deep, rich voice spoke from behind. “Just put it on my tab.”

Flexing his fingers, Bakugou slowly turned and- *Oh*

Oh hell.

The first thing he noticed were his eyes; wide and beautiful. Garnet irises, just like his but darker, deeper, not lined in kohl, but with thick, black lashes. A deep, angry scar sliced through his eyebrow, one easily fixed by nano, but Bakugou found himself glad the man left it.

Tracing the mark with his eyes as it disappeared into the dense darkness of his black roots, the agent realized the stranger had spoken. Blinking rapidly to break the spell, Bakugou cleared his throat and turned his head. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Sliding into the space next to him, fingers grazing the small of the agent’s back, the stranger smiled down at him, clearly amused.  “Not used to being thanked for sitting next to someone.” 

Bakugou absolutely did not want to be charmed; but he was. 

Damn.

And from the look of the tech on his wrist, rich.

“Can I get you another?” the stranger, leaned closer, a strand of red tipped hair falling over his forehead.

“I-” Bakugou swallowed, looking away with a frown. “I already got one.”

“I know,” the man shrugged “I was just hoping to convince you to stay for another.”

A little white mug is slid in front of the man, who nods in thanks. He hadn’t even ordered…

“Look,” the agent cleared his throat, reaching for the mask of sarcasm he wore so well, “I didn’t know what you think is happenin’. But I’m not a Companion.” He finished his howitzer, shoving the glass away as he turned. “And I’m not interested in a hook-up.”

“Then what are you interested in?”

Something about the tone, the knowing edge of the question, pulled Bakugou to a stop. He turned back toward the man just as Hanta pushed another drink forward.

The blond looked from the howitzer to the man to his little steaming mug. “The fuck are you drinkin’?’

The stranger smiled, tilted his head as a small laugh escaped his plush lips. “Cocoa.”

It’s ludacris, so Bakugou laughed.

The man’s smile grew into something wider, something genuine. He gestured to the stool the agent had vacated and Bakugou found himself sliding back onto it. 

“Not a drinker?” the blond, snatched the drink off the counter, avoiding the stranger’s gaze.

“It’s not that,” he laughed, hand running through his slicked back hair, knocking more wild strands from their tenuous hold.  “I just like to stay sharp.” His fingers linger on the stubble of his undercut.

Bakugou followed those thick digits as they traced along his ear, dancing over the red jeweled studs that lined the lobe, vaguely wondering if they felt as calloused as they looked. “Especially when I’m with someone I’d like to get to know better.”

His eyes cut to Bakugou’s face, as he sips from the mug. 

Fighting against the blush in his cheeks, the blond scoffs. “Idiot.” He takes another drink, a bigger one, letting the sweet and spicy tang distract him. 

“Eijirou.”

He scowled. “What?”

“My name’s Eijirou. Not ‘idiot’.” The man leaned forward, hand rising as though he’s reaching for the agent’s face, but stopping short. “I hope you’ll remember it.”

The man leaned forward, hand rising as though he’s reaching for the agent’s face, but stopping short. “I hope you’ll remember it.” 

The blond opened his mouth; closed it. Usual barb nowhere to be found.

Grabbing the glass like a safety line, he takes a long pull, pointedly ignoring the molten gaze lingering on the column of his throat. 

“Do I have to guess,” Eijirou smiles.

“Huh?”
“Your name.” He shifts on the stool, thighs brushing. “Do you want me to guess?”

“Kat-er-Zero.” The agent clears his throat, takes another sip. “Call me Zero.”

Eijirou leans across the counter, smirk pulling at the corner of his lip, the scent of something sweet, dancing in the air they now shared.

Bakugou’s heart jumpstarts, beating so hard, he can feel it in his throat. His body reacts, inching forward into that space between them, lips parting, just so.

But then Eijirou is gone, pulled back and smiling over his cocoa without a care in the world.

“Zero...” He waves two fingers at Hanta, who slides a tall glass of water to the man. “Not the name I’d have picked for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou scowls to hide the blush, the disappointment (in what? He’s not sure) “And what would you have picked.”

“So what do you do, Zero?” Eijirou asks smoothly, letting his knee touch the agent’s, just for a moment. “I’m guessing you’re not in customer service.”

So, this was the game.

Fine. 

If Eijirou’s so hellbent on being friendly, maybe Bakugou can use it.

Pull some information out of him. He’s got an air about him like… The blond feels his pulse quicken when he remembers the proximity of his face just moments ago. 

He’s gotta get a better hold here.

Bakugou rolls his neck, “Let’s just say I specialize in ‘public service’.”

“‘Public service.’” Eijirou huffs around his mug. “I guess you could say I have a similar interest.”

“Yeah?” the agented probed. “What kind of interest?” Draining his glass, he looks back over his shoulder at Eijirou, noting the way the man’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“You,” Eijirou’s eyes never leave Bakugou’s face as he takes the fresh howitzer from Hanta and slides it toward the blond. “-for one.”

Is it the alcohol sending static to his brain to the way the dark haired man presses his thigh to Bakugou’s, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“Me?” He doesn’t even mean to speak, but the word falls out in a husky whisper and Eijirou’s sharp sharp K-9 catches the meat of his bottom lip. “Tell me about you.”

“I’m-” Bakugou shifts, forcing himself back, just a few centimeters, just enough to lessen the heat, just enough to catch his breath. “I’m just a guy.”

Again the drink is his savior, the leather of his glove slides across the cold til he can wrap his bare fingers around the chilly cylinder. “Nothin’ special. Just here to-”

“Unwind?”

The agent forces a wobbly smile. “Yeah.”

“Hhmm…” Eijirou’s grin widens, “Hoping to take the edge off after all that-” Those sanguine eyes dip to Bakugou’s lips. “-Serving?”

“Yeah.”

“Hhmmm…” 

Bakugou’s pulse pounded. He tore his gaze away, frowning. “A-Are you just gonna interrogate me?”

“I’m sorry, Zero, but I-” Eijirou looks away, considers. “I have a good sense of people.” He glances over at the doorman, then at Hanta, at some blond snuggled up in a halo-gamer’s lap and then back to the agent. “It’s why I’m good at what I do.”

“And what would that be?” Bakugou challenged, trying to regain control. Control he never had.

“And Zero,” Eijirou snakes an arm around Bakugou’s shoulder, lets his lips brush his ear, “I think you’re lying to me.”

Bakugou’s stomach dropped, his body tensed. “What?” 

“You’re really-”

The agent’s fingers reaching for the panic button on his wrist.

“-a biohacker, aren’t you?”

Bakugou froze. “What?” he barked.

“No way you could be this pretty otherwise,” Eijirou stood straight, smiling wide, eyes glimmering with mischief.

Then… Laughter.

“Oh my fuck!” Hanta howled from across the bar, startling the blond.

How had Bakugou forgotten he was there? Fuck!

“Did Denki feed you that line?” the bartender laughed. “Oh shit!” He leaned a tattooed hand on the edge of the bar and wiped at his eyes. “That’s so bad!”

“What?” Eijirou laughed good-naturedly, “I thought it was pretty good!”

“Oh fuck!”

Bakugou stared from one to the other. “The hell…” Was that… Were they making fun of him? “Fuck this,” the agent bit back moving to stand. 

“Wait!” Eijirou laughed, “I was-I was just-!”

His thick calloused fingers wrapped easily around Bakugou’s wrist, bracelets and all. “I’m sorry.”

Bakugou stared at Eijirou’s hand on his body, skin rough and hot and exactly what he’d thought it would be.

“Stay,” Eijirou smiled, giving his arm a gentle tug. “Please. I’m sorry. I just-” He let go of the blond, fingers lingering, “You’re just…” He sighed, a dusty heat rising on his cheeks. “You’re really fuckin’ pretty. And I-” That damn smile again. “I couldn’t resist.”

Bakugou’s first instinct is to pull his arm away and find someone else to juice for information. Someone less distracting. Maybe that giggly pink-haired adreno junkie or her mohawked goth buddy with the bird-nose.

Hell, even the purple eyed holo gamer with bouncy crop-top twink in his lap were less distracting than Eijirou and his stupid sincerety and his pretty fuckin’ face and the ridiculously tight body he kept catching peeks of through the strategic tears in his jeans.

Or the way Bakugou was drawn to him like a junkie to a needle. 

Eijirou tilts his head, bites the corner of his lip. “One more drink?”

“Tch,” the blond crossed his arms, deliberately bumping Eijirou’s shoulder as he passed, “Fine.” And slid back onto the stool.

“Another round, Hanta!” 

And that’s how Special Agent Bakugou Katsuki fell into a night of drinking with a handsome stranger and missing every check-in his increasingly frantic partner sent.

It’s almost hypnotizing to watch Eijirou speak, the way he waves his hands when he’s excited and bites his lip when he’s listening; and he’s listening a lot. Coaxing laughter and stories out of Bakugou without even seeming to try.

And even when the agent catches himself and tries to steer the conversation back to the club, to the Q, to the distributor, Eijirou dances it away again with quiet jokes and gentle touches. 

And Bakugou’s too invested to turn back.

He’s sure he knows something.

And as much as he hates to admit it, he’s having fun. He can’t remember when he’d smiled this much.

So much so he doesn’t notice a tall man with two-toned hair and an icy gaze watching them from a darkened corner booth.

“Zero,” Eijirou props himself up on the bar, chin on fist, “I have a question for you.”

Bakugou grins into his glass, “Shocker.” 

The man chuckles. 

“Whatcha want now?” Bakugou shoves the empty glass away “My blood type?”

He turns toward the other who’s already leaning in, hand on his thigh, thigh pressed against the blond’s; and still he moves closer.

He uses Bakugou’s thigh to steady himself as he moves in, closer and closer til their cheeks are nearly brushing as he whispers by his ear. “You lookin’ for work?”

Bakugou’s heart skips a beat, then pounds double time to make up for it.  “Y-Yeah,” he manages and it shouldn’t sound breathless, but it does. It should send the blood rushing from his head to his cock when Eijirou squeezes his thigh and hums. “Well…”

He pushes back, cutting all contact. “Let’s make a deal.”

Katsuki’s head is spinning, he may actually have whiplash. “What?”

“I’ll trade you a job for…” Eijirou pauses long enough to hand Hanta his still full mug “Something… Something sweet from you.”

His smile seems conspiratory, like he’s making an inside joke that the blond’s not privy to.

“What?” Bakugou repeats, feeling confused and angry and aroused all at once and there’s not a damn thing he can do about any of it.

His hazy mind is racing with everything the man could be asking of him; simple things, illegal things… Dirty things. Things he’d do, he realizes. He can feel the heat rising up his neck, across his cheeks. “What do you want?”

Eijirou gives him a sly little smirk and the agent leans in. “Mochi,” the dark haired man answers, tucking a red tipped strand behind his ear. “Strawberry mochi from Fat Gum’s on the fifth level. Near the-”

“Near the Shiketsu territory.”

“Smack dab in the middle,” Eijirou laughs.

Bakugou narrows his eyes. “And you can’t-”

“Let’s just say,” he looks away thoughtfully, “Inasa and I aren’t running in the same circles these days.”

He pushes away from the bar, stretching high as rose and faintly Bakugou’s aware of movement from others nearby, but he’s too distracted by the newly bared skin offered by Eijirou’s tantalizing stretch. Tawny hard abs with the peeking edge of a tattoo…

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eijirou claps a big hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, tilts his chin up with the other. “I hope.” And he leaves.

************************

The agent doesn’t return the calls he missed. But he doesn’t sleep either. Every time he wanders the edge of somniferous respite, his mind returns to The Agency and pulse races under the imagined gaze of the mysterious Eijirou.

By the time he makes it to his desk, Midoriya’s there, confused frown on his round face as he listens to an agitated Iida, who is loudly complaining about the merits of arriving on-time. Even if they don’t really have set schedules.

“The hell are you two doing here?” Bakugou demands around the chocolate chili meal bar in mouth. 

The pair turn on him in unison, one visibly relieved and the other irritated. “Good to see you, Agent,” Iida crosses his arms across his broad chest. “We were concerned aft-”

“Concerned?” Midoriya pushes past the senior officer, “Kacchan! Where were you? You missed every check-in and never called and never messaged and I called Iida and we woke the-”

“‘M fine,”  Bakugou drops into his chair, drops the gym bag of clothes onto the floor next to him as he bites off half protein bar, “N’ I wever agweed ta wer stupipt chek-ins”

“I’m your partner!” Midoriya protests. “And your cousin! You’re double obligated to-”

"I ain’t obligated to do shit!” Bakugou crosses his arms and leans back. “I told you I was doin’ this alone.”

“You’re not supposed to do cases alone, Kacchan!”
“Don’t fuckin’ call me that!”

“That’s why we were assigned-”

“Pardon me,” Iida interrupts, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a gleaming green data chip “But I have the information you requested in reference to a chemist-” 

Bakugou snatches it out of his hand with a grin. “Gimme that.” He shoves the chip into the reader with a laugh.

"I'm not sure what you're-"

"Katsuki!" Midoriya groans, reaching out to swipe the blond’s screen away. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Nope," he shoved the other half of the protein bar into his mouth.