SUMMARY: Daphne reflects out at sea.
WARNINGS: Rated K+. Spoilers for the film Some Like it Hot. Otherwise, erm… depiction of a friendly male-male relationship? Yeah, that's about it.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Some Like it Hot; it belongs to its director Billy Wilder and those glorious actors that made it come alive, namely Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Joe E. Brown.
If there exists something out there in the great wide world that can compare to feeling a sea breeze sliding softly across your face, Daphne doesn't want to know about it. Or rather, he doesn't believe there is anything at all that can possibly compare. The tang of salt, the sweetness that signals a nearby tropical shore, the tiny droplets of water that seem to freeze and sparkle midway between the water and the sky…
He's not in the least bit poetic most of the time, but the sea is inspiring. It's a welcome relief from the sooty, dark city, and reminds him of the beach in Florida. There was that same burning bright sun and rough sand granules there, overshadowed by the callous cries of seabirds and the equally high giggles of girls playing beach ball or splashing in low tide. He splashed in low tide with the rest of the girls, bulky and muscular and awkward among them but not caring in the least.
Daphne hears a whistle and turns around, blinking against the glare. Sugar waves from her position on the stairs, holding a pale blue tropical drink in one hand, complete with pink and yellow umbrella and a bright red maraschino cherry. Gesturing with the drink, she raised an eyebrow. Daphne shook his head, declining the drink offer. Sugar shrugged and headed back inside, only to run right into Joe, who swooped down and gave her a deep kiss. She giggled, stuck out her cotton candy pink tongue, and wiggled her rear as she stepped back inside the cabin. Daphne was still working on getting that wiggle just right. Then Joe was standing behind him, glancing out at the sea, dark eyes glowing with something like happiness.
"Beautiful, ain't it, Joe?" Daphne said, reclining slightly. Joe smiled that heady smile of his, the one that Jerry would sometimes catch himself staring at for no particular reason while they played in the band, or swapped drinks at Moe's, or even just when they walked down the street together. Joe had that kind of effect on people. Not on Osgood, luckily, or none of this ever would have happened.
"Sure is, Daphne." With that, Joe saunters off, probably to find Sugar and say some sweet words to her. He's good with sweet words. Daphne's specialty seems limited to pitiful looks, but they work more often than not. He breathes in another fresh breeze as it lazily rolls onto the deck, and smiles to himself as he hears Osgood settle himself on the beach chair to his left and feels the arm casually draped over his shoulder.
"What do you think of sea breezes, Osgood?" Daphne asks, eyes still focused on some faraway nothing. After having survived the stock market crash relatively intact (everyone wants to see showgirls and musical spectacles, even if people are starving on the streets), there wasn't much to do except visit exotic lands or spend weeks at sea, relaxing with Joe and Sugar. The investors don't require Osgood to secure his fortune, and secretly, though Osgood frets and feels useless, Daphne is glad. It wouldn't due for him not to see his husband for long stretches of time. He craves attention.
"Darling, sea breezes are the most wondrous gifts given to those who can afford to float upon the ocean." Daphne chuckles low in his throat. He may not be particularly poetic, but Osgood makes poetry all seem like epigrams. Funny ones, though. He feels calloused fingers curling into his hair, and smiles dreamily, absently twirling the golden band on his ring finger. He vaguely thinks that he hears to voices laughing in unison, that of Joe and Sugar, but he is too content to think upon it any more than in passing. Being with Osgood does that to him.
Abruptly, Daphne sits up, and leans toward his husband, intent on a kiss. At that moment, a particularly fierce breeze yowls its way through. He overbalances, and both chairs tip backwards. The two men end up in a tangled pile of limbs and laughter, half-drenched in salt water. Daphne gets some in his mouth and grimaces at the bitter taste, and Osgood appears to have lost his hat. There is the tinkle of glasses breaking from inside, a shout and a curse, followed by more laughter. They are a mess, all four of them. Damn sea breeze.
Even so, Daphne still can't think of anything that can compare to a sea breeze running softly across his face.