A/N: Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're going under. Deep breath...

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CHAPTER 2: The assignment

Five years ago

Blaine should have never been given this task. After barely six months with the FBI, he wasn't experienced enough, not to mention completely untrained and unprepared for working undercover. But he was a good agent, eager to prove himself in the first big case he got to participate in, and he was gay, which was a key factor. So when Bobby, their team leader, explained how Blaine was the only one who could quickly infiltrate the place and get the evidence they needed for a warrant, he never hesitated. Never even thought to ask any questions before he agreed, trusting his superiors to know best.

And Bobby, a wiry forty-year-old with weary eyes and ten years of experience working sex cases, didn't bother to make sure that Blaine understood what this particular job entailed, every grimy detail of it. Later, Blaine would realize the man had to know what his junior agent would have to do. But he chose not to talk about it, probably reluctant to scare Blaine off when he had no one else as fit for the job at his immediate disposal.

Or maybe he just didn't care, and only wanted the job done. Maybe he was so numbed by years of working these cases that he honestly didn't think it would be a problem.

If Blaine had known, he would have never agreed. This wasn't what he'd signed up for. He just wanted to help people. If he'd known, he would have let someone else be the hero – and the tormentor.

But he hadn't known, hadn't even thought that it could be a possibility – after all, his superiors would have told him something like that, right? So he only felt proud and eager, and buzzing with nervous anticipation when he entered the headquarters hours before the mission.

The whiteboard in the conference room held all the information they had – information Blaine knew by heart already, but scanned again carefully.

They were after a small but well hidden sex trafficking group. This particular group was highly specialized: unlike many, they only dealt in boys – young, often underage – and provided their services to a high class gay clientele. Many clues suggested they were hand-picking and kidnapping the kids before making them nothing more than sex slaves.

The group was well connected and elusive, changing addresses of their brothels at the first sign of trouble, but after seven months of chasing their own tail, the FBI finally had a lucky break lately. A wealthy New York banker, neck deep in trouble for his financial exploitations, decided that he valued his freedom higher than loyalty towards his sex provider. He traded his help in collaring the people operating the business for a greatly reduced sentence, and his info turned out to be gold.

The problem with this particular group was that they operated on very strict rules and within exclusive circles. It was impossible to become their client without a personal introduction and recommendation from one of their trusted customers. Due to the methods they employed, no one really knew where the brothel was or who went there. Really, the informant was a godsend, so the FBI had to act immediately. If news of his arrest got to the people managing the group, they'd disappear to resurface somewhere else, and it might take months to find them again.

After rehearsing his cover story (spoiled kid from a wealthy family, a 21-year-old with a preference for young boys, he'd gotten a night at the brothel as a coming-of-age gift from his godfather who called and recommended him), Blaine sat down with Bobby for the final briefing before going in.

Age wasn't a problem. Blaine, barely 25, could easily pass for younger with his innocent face and smiling eyes. He was also quite confident about his ability to play a role – he'd wanted to be an actor before his father put his foot down, and he'd had his share of roles in high school and college productions. The only thing he lacked was undercover training, but for that, he was being briefly instructed.

"Kid, remember: you don't just play that guy – once you go in, you are that guy. Arrogant, hormonal, spoiled, but a bit overwhelmed too – it's your first time in a brothel. Watch the way you talk, the things you say. Be specific, include details when you speak – nothing's more suspicious than sounding too vague and generic – but not too many, it has to be natural. Take a moment to become this kid; think about what he's like, what he enjoys, particularly with sex. If he's getting such a present, his godfather must know it would be something he'd like. So he's kinky, he has unusual or weird preferences, at least for his age. What are they? Be prepared to speak about your – his – sex life freely and with relish. Plan what you'd like to do, they will ask you. Try to catch everything you can, vision and sound, remember to stand in front of things so the cameras can get it. Talk. And remember, when you're with one of those kids, you can't let him know you're a Fed. Don't interview him, just talk like you normally would. It may be tough, you'll want to help and rescue him, but remember, the best help you can give him, all of them, is getting out of there in the morning without raising suspicions. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Once you get in that car, you're on your own. We'll be listening in and watching the feedback all along, but we may not be able to pull you out immediately if anything goes south, so you have to think on your feet. These guys are glorified amateurs, they're cruel and they've most likely killed before. And they don't care about those kids. They probably wouldn't dare kill you if your cover gets blown, but they won't hesitate to get rid of anyone else to cover their tracks, so you have to prevent it at all costs."

Maybe the at all costs should have warned Blaine, but it didn't. He nodded eagerly.

"I will not let you down, sir."

"Good. Now let's go get you wired, it's almost time."

When Blaine got to the meeting spot an hour later, he was someone else entirely. The fake ID in his wallet said that his name was Matthew Sibley, 21, resident of Columbus, Ohio. His curly hair was slicked back with a copious amount of gel that made it feel like a helmet, and his casual clothes were substituted with tight jeans, a sinfully clingy white v-neck and a black leather vest. He even wore different cologne.

His fancy designer glasses looked like a simple fashion accessory and not the marvel of technology they were. There was more state-of-the-art transmitting equipment tucked on and around his person so if he couldn't transfer one way, the others would work. They couldn't risk losing signal entirely.

The dark green SUV he'd been told to expect stopped in front of the tiny bistro exactly on time. Blaine glanced at the front bumper – the colorful Disneyland sticker was where he was told it would be. The driver's door opened and he was surprised to see a middle aged blond woman smiling at him. She was attractive, her blue eyes contrasting beautifully with tanned skin, but there was a hardness in her face that told him she was no soccer mom.

"Hi! Hop in the back." The front passenger seat was occupied by an oversize handbag and a box from a bakery.

Blaine did as he was told. So that was it; there was no going back now, and he felt more excited than nervous. Here was his chance to prove himself. He'd take it and show his superiors that he was an excellent agent.

The door locked with a quiet click and Blaine realized that the tinted windows in the back were not see-through – not from the inside, at least. The blonde turned to him, all business now.

"Do you have a phone, mp3 player, or any other device with a GPS?"

"Just my iPhone." He patted the pocket where Matt's phone resided. It wasn't a lie, technically. The GPS was in the sole of his shoe.

"Your watch?"

"Nope." He showed her his wrists. There was only a bracelet there, a complicated tangle of leather and silver that looked well worn and completely innocent. Especially for an audio transmitter. The woman nodded dismissively.

"And you don't have any bag, I see."

Blaine faked uncertainty. "No, why? Do I need anything?"

She smirked. "Yeah, your PJs. Okay, switch off the phone and put it in the black box beside you. Lock it. The box stays with me until morning, so try not to lose the key." She took in his surprised expression and explained. "Your phone is untraceable in there. This is to ensure that the location of the place we're going remains secret."

Blaine knew all this, of course, but Matt wouldn't, so he wondered aloud even as he took out the phone and did as he was told. "But I'll see where we're going, so –"

"No, you won't. And don't try anything. If I see you do, the trip is over, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He managed to pull off charming and petulant at the same time, a boy who's used to getting his way. She nodded briefly and pressed a button.

With that, the partition between the front and back slid up, blocking Blaine's view through the windscreen. There was no way to look outside now, but that was okay. Finding the place wasn't his job.

Blaine wasn't sure how long they drove, but it didn't feel like more than half an hour until they stopped, which meant they were probably still in New York. He didn't move, waiting for instructions. A moment later, the partition came down. They were in a garage; completely empty, windowless and brightly lit. His driver smiled briefly.

"Here we are. Go through this door. I'll see you in the morning, enjoy your stay."

Blaine didn't know what to expect, but inside, the house looked – well, like a normal, private house, except all the windows were tinted too dark to see through. He turned around curiously, letting the cameras in his glasses and vest button register everything.

A middle-aged man in a well-fitted charcoal suit was waiting in the hallway – heavy-set, pretty nondescript, he looked like a businessman who just came home from work and was about to enjoy his evening with a glass of whiskey and a movie. Blaine shook his extended hand firmly and the man smiled.

"Hi, I'm John. It's good to meet you at last. Your father spoke very highly of you when he called me."

The game was on, then. Blaine shook his head with a small smirk.

"Oh, no sir, it was my godfather." And you know it perfectly well. "If my father knew I'd be coming here, he might feel the need to disown me, if you know what I mean. Leo told me to give this to you."

He took a thick padded envelope from his vest pocket and handed it to the man. He knew what was inside: cash – these people didn't deal in other forms of payment, obviously – plus a short recommendation note from their informant (Leo, as he dubbed himself), and a password he was given on the phone. John opened the envelope, looked through the contents and nodded, evidently satisfied. His smile was much wider and more open now as he gestured for Blaine to follow him to a comfortable lounge.

"Please, sit down." They both settled in deep leather armchairs and John looked at him curiously. "A coming-of-age gift, eh? You must be pretty close with your godfather if this is what he gives you."

Blaine nodded, trying to look slightly bashful. "Yeah. He's the only one in my family who doesn't care that I'm gay. In fact, he bailed me out a couple of times when I got into trouble with my... um. Preferences."

The man nodded and specified calmly. "You mean, young boys."

"Yes, sir." It wasn't difficult to blush slightly at that.

"Well, I think he chose your present well then. I'm sure you'll like your time here – all our employees are perfect little bottoms, young and tight as they come. But first, I need to know your expectations so that I can pick the best match for you." Blaine's heart fluttered a little when he was handed a pad with a questionnaire sheet. "Now, if any of the things specified here are foreign to you, just ask. I'll be back in five minutes."

Hand trembling slightly – he didn't try to suppress it, Matt would be a little nervous too – Blaine took a pen from the coffee table and looked through the page.

What would you like your date to look like?

Blaine remembered Bobby's advice – details, but not too many. Tall, slim, pretty, light coloring. That should be enough.

Check any and all special features you're interested in tonight.

There was a long list of kinks there, some of which made Blaine shudder. Bondage, cross-dressing, or roleplay he understood and could potentially see the appeal of, but bloodplay? Breathplay, S/M, infantilism, for god's sake? And these were just a few of many. Were those really such common things here that they had a whole sick menu for them? Wasn't it enough that these boys were forced into sex work? Did they have to be hurt, cut and humiliated on top of it?

He felt sick. But he couldn't let himself think about it now, couldn't break character, so with a steadying breath, he focused of the task at hand, more determined than ever. He would do anything to make sure those kids were released as soon as humanly possible, anything. That was his job – his mission: he would help.

The kink list still lay empty in front of him, and he really should choose something before John returned – Matt might be too young to have tried any hardcore stuff, but he wouldn't be totally vanilla either. With an unsteady hand, Blaine checked D/s, the only thing on the list he'd had any personal experience with, having explored it a little with his boyfriend.

Any other wishes?

No. He couldn't think of anything. What else could be added after that detailed catalogue of horrors?

John came back just as Blaine, his ears burning from the mixture of disgust and embarrassment, put the pen away. The man took one look at him and grinned.

"No need to be shy here." He picked up the pad and read through the answers before looking up at Blaine. "Are you sure that's all? If you want to try something more, it's perfectly okay, I promise. It's all included in the price."

Blaine shook his head. "No, I just want... It's enough. This time." He let his smile come out stiff, nervous, and wiped his hands on his jeans as if they were sweaty.

John smiled. "As you wish. You can change your mind at any point during the night, of course, if you decide to explore, but remember that we pick your partner based on your choices here, so he may not be specialized in the more advanced pleasures."

Blaine nodded without a word, and John went back to the questionnaire.

"Light coloring, you say – do you mean you want a blond one?"

"Um, not necessarily – I mean, a different type than I am, you know, light eyes, fairly light hair –"

"Gotcha. And you're a dominant, of course?"

Blaine felt himself color deeper, remembering that his team saw and heard everything. "Of course."

John nodded, nonplussed. "What should he call you?"

Blaine was glad he chose something he'd at least tried before. Otherwise, he might be painfully confused. As it was, he answered confidently, "Sir."

"Good." His host finished reading through the questionnaire once more before walking over to a shredder in the corner and feeding the sheet of paper through. "No paper trail, as you can see. We are very careful with that."

He sat back down with a satisfied smile.

"All right, I think I have a perfect toy for you. Let me just tell you about our rules first. We have a strict privacy policy, as you may have noticed. Our suites are soundproof and there are no cameras or mikes there, of course. No one can interrupt your time there for twelve hours from the minute you close the door, and you're free to do whatever you please, with a few exceptions. We have to take care of our employees, so whatever you do, you can leave no lasting injuries that could keep them from work. Also, condoms – not just for anal sex, but oral too, at least when they're the ones performing the act. Always, unless you're ready to pay double the price."

Blaine shook his head, trying hard not to show how nauseated he felt. Whatever you please. Ugh, he didn't even want to think about what it must have entailed in some cases. There were pretty perverted fucks out there, he knew, and places like this one catered to their needs perfectly. Money could buy anything.

Fortunately, John either didn't notice Blaine's discomfort or simply took it for nerves, because he patted his knee and got up.

"All right, I'll go order your date to get prepared for you. It will take a little while – feel free to entertain yourself. There's TV, magazines, music, liquor – everything at your disposal. I'll be back soon." With that, the man disappeared in the hallway and Blaine was left with his thoughts.

He tried flipping through some magazines, but the disgust burned his throat and he couldn't focus. He felt dirty just from being here. It was one thing to talk about this place with the team, using dry facts and numbers, and another entirely to know that somewhere in this very house there was a bunch of teenagers forced to deal with such sick bastards on everyday basis. That right now, one of them was being prepared for him, unaware that he was safe, that Blaine wouldn't even try to do anything but talk.

Suddenly, he needed a drink to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth. He'd planned to be completely sober and on the top of his game, but Bobby had told him it was alright to have a drink, as long as it wasn't enough to muddle his brain. In fact, it might be more in character if he did drink something.

Sighing, Blaine got up from the armchair and went to the liquor cabinet in the corner to pour himself a shot of tequila. He spent the next twenty minutes changing channels on the TV and doing his best to calm down. The undercover stuff didn't look quite so exciting anymore.

By the time John reappeared to take him upstairs, Blaine was as collected as he could manage. At least the most stressful part was over. Now he'd just talk with the kid they chose for him, get as much information as possible and wait until it was time to leave. He was really good with the talking and gaining people's trust, he'd been told. He could do it.

If he only knew...