WC Fic: Shirts & Skins - Part 1
Shirts & Skins Part One - Tadzio
Italian Riviera. July 2002.
“Are we sure that’s Caffrey?” Jones glanced back and forth between a grainy surveillance camera photo and his binoculars. The young agent wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve. The midmorning sun beat down from the cloudless sky, the heat crushing as it radiated off of the rocky cliff top they were standing on. The navy blue Fiat against their backs was getting uncomfortably hot. The sedan was pulled to the side of the narrow mountain road, hazard lights flashing. A red convertible blew past them, honking briefly. Jones’ eyes followed its shrinking taillights as it disappeared around the sharp turn.
“Yes, probie, we’re sure.” Agent Burke’s focus never strayed from the eyepieces of his binoculars. If he was bothered by the heat and by the sweat soaking into the collar of his white shirt, his composure didn’t give it away. His gaze was trained on the white yacht gently rocking on the brilliant blue waves of the Mediterranean Sea below.
Jones sighed and returned his attention to the surveillance job at hand. His binoculars swept the expanse of the boat’s deck before zoning in on the figure of the dark-haired young man reclining comfortably on a thickly cushioned chaise lounge, his back to the rocky cliff. Extending an arm lazily, the man grabbed a champagne flute from a small side table and emptied it into his mouth. He reached for the bottle nestled into an ice bucket by the side of his chaise. Ice water dripped from the outside of the chilled bottle onto his bare chest as he tried to shake the last drops of champagne from the empty bottle into his glass.
“Hair’s longer,” Jones commented as the young man sat up on his lounger, revealing a short messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. Chin-length wavy strands fell deep into his face as he leaned forward. He brushed a few wisps of hair behind his ear with the hand holding the empty champagne bottle.
“The most recent picture we have of Caffrey is about six months old,” Burke replied. On cue, Jones let the binoculars dangle from his neck and retrieved the camera resting on the roof of the rental car. Raising the camera to eye level, he supported the heavy teleobjective with his left hand. He adjusted the focus until the young man’s figure appeared sharply in frame. The shutter clicked in rapid succession.
“Too far for a close-up.” Jones watched the dark-haired man exchange a few words with the blonde stretched out on a matching chaise to his right. The man swung his legs over the edge of the lounger and rose to his feet in a graceful fluent motion, slipping out from under the towel draped over his lap. The camera quieted.
“Is he?” Jones’ brow furrowed.
“Yup,” Burke nodded behind his binoculars.
“No tan lines.”
“Nope.”
Both men watched in embarrassed silence as their target ambled over to his female companion. Bending his slender body at the waist with the champagne glass and bottle held at his sides, he leaned over the blonde and flashed a toothy smile. Strands of his hair flopped into her face as he closed the final distance and locked his lips with hers. Her hand reached around the back of his neck to pull him closer. She let her fingers linger there for a moment and then playfully dragged her manicured nails over his shoulder and down his pectorals. They continued kissing as she drew lazy circles over his well-defined abs with the back of her hand before her fingers nimbly slipped around his flank and came to rest on his behind. He playfully squirmed away from her touch glaring down at her in mock outrage as he backed away towards the cabin.
The shutter of the camera clicked a few times. Agent Burke’s hand heavily settled on the teleobjective, pointing the camera towards the ground.
“Do you really want to discuss those pictures with the entire unit during the next briefing?” Burke smirked at his probationary agent with a raised eyebrow. Jones sheepishly shook his head and lowered the camera. Agent Burke was already resuming his previous position behind the binoculars. Jones pondered for a moment why Burke’s arms were not tiring from holding the weighty instrument for the past hour, while his own biceps were starting to ache uncomfortably.
On the yacht, the woman was alone as her companion had disappeared below deck.
“She’s old enough to be his mother,” Jones remarked. They watched the forty-something blonde stretch and rise to her feet, her body slim and curvy in a red bikini that left little to the imagination. She braced her hands on the yacht’s railing and gazed out over the waters.
“Yeah, my heart bleeds for him,” Burke commented wryly. “Another mark to charm, another tough day at the office for Neal Caffrey.”
The blonde’s head turned to the side, her eyes sweeping appraisingly up and down the tanned and toned body of her beau as he reappeared on deck. The young man approached her with unabashed, limber strides, carrying a bottle of champagne and two clean glasses in one hand and a leather-bound sketchbook in the other. He flipped the sketchbook onto his chaise in passing, wiggled the champagne into the ice bucket and placed the glasses onto the side table. He grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion and popped the top as he walked up behind the blonde. Teasingly passing his fingertips down her back he pressed a tender kiss on her shoulder. He squirted some lotion into his right hand.
“Oh come on,” Jones groaned. “Can this get any more cliché?”
Burke chuckled. On the yacht, the woman spun around, splaying her fingers across her companion’s chest. She pouted at him seductively before pushing him backwards with a playful shove. Amused, she watched him stumble and almost lose his footing when his calves collided with the lounge chairs, his arms flailing wildly to regain his balance. Climbing over the deck railing, the woman jumped into the water and disappeared from view.
“Amateur,” Burke muttered under his breath. He found himself surprised by the pinch of pleasure he felt in watching the graceful man lose control of his carefully constructed facade of cool elegance for a brief moment. Dignity temporarily gone, the young man stood alone on deck, eyeing the messy glob of lotion dripping from his fingertips. He shook some of it onto the floor and wiped the rest onto his chest and stomach, his hand dipping below his waist to spread the remaining lotion.
“Oh boy. I did not need to see that.” Jones lowered his binoculars and rubbed his tired eyes. At his side, Agent Burke was still focused on the boat, a smirk playing on his lips.
The screeching of tires skidding over concrete made their heads whip around in alarm. A small truck came careening around the turn, its speed carrying the vehicle close to the side of the road. Honking and frantically applying the brakes the driver swerved to avoid hitting the Fiat parked on the shoulder.
“Agent Burke! Watch out!” Jones yelled and unceremoniously jumped out from behind the sedan. He watched in horror as the truck almost made it past the parked car, its tail swinging outwards and clipping the rear fender. The sedan jumped two feet to the right, slamming violently into Burke’s back. The agent was swept off of his feet and landed in an ungainly face plant.
The first thing Burke felt was the sharp pain of bone grinding against bone in the lower arm that was trapped under his prone body. The next thing he tasted was the mixture of blood and dust as his face rested on a bed of gravel and the shattered remains of his binoculars. The last thing he saw was the silhouette of a young man staring at him from the deck of a yacht, his hand raised in a hesitant salute as he slowly backed towards the edge of the deck and dove head first into the waves.
---
Peter sat up on the exam table with a groan. Cradling the heavy cast that enveloped his broken lower arm he slipped off the side of the table. He walked over to the small sink in the corner of the doctor’s office and studied his face in the mirror. Cleaned up, the cuts and scrapes had lost some of their initial impressiveness. He didn’t need stitches, at least not until he got home to face his wife. Elizabeth was never pleased to see him hurt on the job. He made a mental note to make sure to keep the details of their stakeout to a strict G rating when explaining to her why he failed to notice a truck barreling down on him.
A brief knock on the door was followed by a petite nurse entering the exam room, Burke’s concerned looking probationary agent following closely behind.
“Mr. Burke, the doctors say you are free to go,” the nurse stated with a thick Italian accent. “I have your paperwork and x-rays for you to take home to the US.” Jones took the large brown envelope from her.
“Oh, and this was dropped off for you at the reception.” The pushed a shoebox-sized gift-wrapped package into his arm. She excused herself with a smile and well wishes and left the room.
“Any idea what this is about?” Burke asked his colleague who shrugged his shoulders. Peter placed the package on the exam table and held it in place with his cast while peeling the wrapping paper away with his good hand. Inside was a greeting card envelope taped to a boxed set of top-of-the-line Zeiss binoculars, the word “Peter” scribbled in elegant cursive on the crisp white paper. Feeling his face flush with impending mortification Peter hastily ripped the envelope open. The card inside was a hand-drawn pencil sketch depicting a seaside cliff in the morning sun. On top of the cliff two small figures next to the shape of a car could be barely made out. In the bottom right corner two initials were penciled in confident, sweeping strokes: NC.
On to Shirts & Skins Part 2