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Author's Note: If you don't like it, don't read it. If you're not supposed to, don't read it. Enough said. Now, enjoy!

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Puppy Wanna Cracker?

Copyright 2009 Whyte Yote

Sam was on his third sweet tea, and it showed. He was past the point of replenishing the ice in the narrow Collins glass as it melted, because his teeth were already sensitive to sweets and he didn't need to add cold to that. Today's copy of the Sarasota Herald Tribune sat at the other end of the thick driftwood dinner table that occupied most of his tiny kitchen, having been read through and discarded. Sam had thought he wouldn't even get through the sports. Now, his paws were shaking and his blood sugar was making him irritable. He knew it was worth the wait for dinner, but damn if he wasn't pissed at Rico right now.

Suffice it to say that this wasn't the first time the parrot had been late to hang out. In polite society, what the black Lab and his friend had been doing could be considered dating, if it was 1957. In reality, they were merely two males who were attracted to each other getting together and doing mutually agreed-upon activities. They were "friends before benefits," and Sam didn't have a problem with that, even if he had, on occasion, rubbed one or two out as soon as he'd heard Rico's car drive away. Merely a pleasant side effect. He liked the way he would chub up when the parrot smiled at him, or said something particularly sultrily in his Brazilian accent. It gave him a reason to flex against his sheath for a few minutes, until he couldn't hold enough blood to make it last. He was teasing himself, and he loved every last second of it. And if Rico had a similar reaction, he never let on.

But Sam was genuinely pissed now, and it wasn't the sugar or Rico's tardiness. It was the goddamn phone call. A half hour late? Okay. But to not even give a quick ring and say so? The parrot didn't even need a good reason; notification would be enough. Things like this, the little things, the easy things, were what riled the Lab up, and he felt his hackles rise upon thinking of Rico's inconsideration. Wait...wasn't that something a boyfriend would do?

"Fuck." Sam took another swig of tea, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain between his molars but enjoying the taste nonetheless. And, despite himself, he felt his tail wag against the back of the chair when he heard Rico's car turn the corner three blocks away. Damn bird.

He listened to the approach: stop one for Pershing, two for Dixie, and three for Gillespie. Then a slight chirp--every time--as the thing spun over the dip in the road there, and finally the squeak of old springs as he pulled into the little pink one-story bungalow that was Sam's house. A jingling of keys, a slam of the door, and the Lab stood behind the screen, waiting. He opened it to find the parrot with one scaly hand in the air, poised to knock.

"Sammy, before choo go making accusations--" Rico started plaintively, his suave baritone belied by its begging nature.

"Do I even want to hear it?" asked the Lab, making a quick trip back to the bedroom to grab his sport coat, throwing it on over a powder-blue tee that made his black fur even darker somehow. Rico had followed him, and when the canine turned around he was snout to beak with the parrot. Rico's yellow eyes stared intently, wanting to apologize. Sam was faced with an overwhelming urge to stick his tongue into that beak, and never come out.

"I ran over my phone." The words were accompanied by the fragrance of lime and coconut, a scent Rico always seemed to carry with him. A gift from Brasilia, he had said. It must be nice to make your own pleasant perfume. "My car was leaking oil, and I bent to investigate. My phone must have slipped from my pocket, you see, and I heard the crunching as I was backing out. Sammy, I am sorry. I hope this does not ruin our plans, yes?" The parrot put his hands on Sam's shoulders, their touch light but sincere.

Sighing, the Lab said, "No, everything's still on. The place doesn't close until late, like eleven. You could have called from your landline, you know, just to let me know."

"I do not have a phone other than the one I just destroyed. I am sorry. Choo forgive me?" The question, however, was, how could he not forgive? Rico was a romantic at heart, he'd learned, and when he spoke he made every word count. That's what made the parrot so easy to get along with. Sam couldn't honestly expect to stay mad for long, not with those soft feathers on his shoulders...and definitely not with the recent hardening between his legs. One of these days Rico would smell that and know. But until then, he was content to let it sit there and pulse pleasantly.

Sam smiled. "I forgive you. I'm just really hungry, is all. I get pissy when I'm hungry."

"Well, let us remedy that then, eh amigo?" Rico was taller than the Lab, and he put an arm around to lead Sam to the front door like a used-car salesman hoping to strike a deal. He kind of looked like one too, with a black and white floral print shirt untucked over khakis, topped by a black blazer. It slimmed down his roundish belly, but Sam loved that part of him especially. Oops, there went the sheath again, and the canine twitched as he felt his tip brushing the fly of his boxers. He just smiled and tried not to think naughty thoughts as he locked the door and they headed out.

***

Anyone who lives in Florida can tell you that driving there sucks. The young people drive too slow, the retirees drive like maniacs, and everyone else shouldn't even have a license. As it turned out, Rico's lack of promptness had put them behind schedule enough so that traffic on the Tamiami Trail was actually negotiable for once. As soon as they got over to I-75, it was a straight shot south. Straight, but long. Sam's stomach was rumbling up a storm, and somehow he'd forgotten that their destination was a good two hours away, if they pushed it. The Lab was eternally grateful, however, that they'd decided on his Civic rather than the parrot's Avanti, which got awful mileage and had no cruise control.

During the ride, Rico asked no less than ten times where it was they were going, and no less than ten times Sam had to reply that it was a secret. And he wanted to keep it that way. He was surprised, since the parrot had lived down here longer than he, that Rico hadn't figured it out. But then again, Florida was large and kept her secret places well...and sometimes used hurricanes to destroy them.

The last ten miles of the interstate were a blur, as Sam pushed his little car past one hundred, stealing glances to the west, where the sun grew redder and closer to the horizon. They would make it, but just barely.

"Sam, really, you did not have to do all this," said Rico, trying to sound grateful as he clutched onto the suicide handle for dear life. They were now racing down the Sanibel Causeway, not speeding but pushing the max for sure. Once the bungalows of Sanibel had come into view, the parrot had known something special was in the mix. It was a long way to go for a simple dinner.

"Yes, I did. I wanted a good meal, and I was hungry for this place. You hungry yet?" the Lab asked, as his stomach tied itself into yet another knot.

"I've been hungry ever since we got out of town," replied the parrot, shifting his bulk around in the comparably small bucket seat. "Hungry for what, I do not yet know." He eyed the canine suspiciously, and Sam could see that out of the corner of his vision, but he paid it no mind. His surprise was going to stay that way no matter what.

The two-lane road wound its way between the beach to the left and a bayou to the right, crushed-shell drives with vacation homes built wherever there was space to build. No matter that the first strong storm would damn near obliterate them all; these were people's second or third homes and, consequently, were heavily insured. Expensive, sure, but not priceless.

Suddenly, they broke out of the foliage and were literally driving along the shore of the Gulf of Mexico, with the sun trekking ever closer to the horizon. Sam heard Rico take in a short gasp of air and knew he'd achieved the desired effect. Now all he had to do was get them to the restaurant in time for the real show. He pressed the accelerator just a bit closer to the floor.

Sam was almost past Andy Rosse Way when he saw the sign. "Shit!" he exclaimed, shifting hard into second gear and achieving a gnarly drift around the corner. If parrots could pale, Rico had done it.

"I'm not that hungry, Sam!"

"Almost there..." The road didn't end at the beach as much as it turned into the beach. They could have driven right into the Gulf if they'd wanted to. Instead, the Lab pulled into the parking lot and found an open spot close to the restaurant proper--a minor miracle in itself. "Alright, come on!" he said, launching himself up and out while Rico had a tougher time. Even before the parrot had a chance to get his footing, he was being half-dragged between cars and onto a beach that was pure crushed shells up until the last five feet or so. Just as they sat down, Sam heard the click of cameras from the thirty or so other people gathered to watch the sunset.

"Wow, Sam, this is something," muttered Rico as soon as he'd had a chance to take it all in. As the sun touched the edge of the horizon, the whole beachfront was bathed in an ethereal orange-gold light, and a collective "Ooohhhh..." went up from its captive audience there on Captiva Island. It took less than a minute from start to finish, but for that time the Lab and parrot were transfixed. One would think that living in Florida, the sunsets would get old and routine after a while. Any Floridian will tell you that they never, ever do. It wasn't until the last sliver had sunk into the Gulf that Sam realized he was clutching Rico's hand. He looked at the parrot, saw the shine in his eyes, and drew away, blushing.

"I thought you said you were hungry," the dog said.

"I am. Very."

"Do you like chowder?"

"As in, clams?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Apparently not." Rico stood and offered his hand to Sam, who was surprised by the parrot's ability to hoist him up bodily with ease. Along with everybody else, they made their way in to dinner.

The Mucky Duck had been a Captiva tradition since 1976, and though Hurricane Wilma had almost destroyed it in 2005, the owners had come back with a vengeance to make the place look just as it had. It embodied everything that a seaside shack was supposed to be: clapboard sides, tin roof, tiki torches, and a loud, boisterous atmosphere, all without seeming like it was trying too hard or--worse--faking it. Sam led Rico onto the patio where the torches kept the atmosphere a bit more comfortable by burning off some of the irrepressible Florida humidity, and they sat down at a table that was little more than an old power-line spool.

"It certainly has charm," said Rico, leaning back on his chair to spread his feathers. His belly puffed up a bit as well, much to Sam's good fortune. "Very nice, very local."

The Lab smiled. "And, the best margaritas this side of the Pine Island Sound."

"Probably the only margaritas," replied the parrot, and laughed, his big yellow beak curving out the sides of his face. "Speaking of which..." Rico gestured with his eyes and Sam followed, spying a young otter padding over to them. Had to either be local or at least from the coast, judging by his casual board shorts and necklace made from miniature conch shells.

"Awesome sunset, huh guys?" he asked, placing napkins and two glasses of water on the table.

"It always is," replied the Lab. "We're actually all ready to go, if you are." Sam nodded to the otter, but Rico was the one to pick up the slack.

Holding up two charcoal fingers, Rico said, "Two? Yes, two margaritas, and I will have mine on the rocks."

"Blended for me," replied the canine. "And two bowls of your famous chowder? Isn't that what we came here for?"


"You're the one who abducted me, cão."

The otter smiled. He probably didn't suspect a thing, but he most likely was getting more of a show than with his other tables. "So, we got two margos, one slushy and one rocky, and two bowls of chow?"

"If that's what it takes, yes," Sam said. "Thank you."

"No prob, be right back guys." And just like that, he was headed for the bar, his heavy rudder-tail counterbalancing him.

"He'd be cuter if he weren't so straight," muttered the parrot, and Sam had to laugh at that, because he'd been thinking the same exact thing. There was straight, and there was straight-acting gay. Both men could tell right away.

"You thinking of stealing him away?" asked the Lab, half-kidding, but lightly contemplating what it might be like to drag that otter into a threesome. Any "-some" would be nice, as long as Rico was there. Fuck, you really have it on for him, don't you? Not the voice of his conscience, but an idle thought. In all truth, he did. And there was no point in denying it, to himself especially.

"Now, Samuel, you know me better than that. I'd make sure to come back alone if I were intent on stealing him away." That bright beak curved around wryly, the bird's eyes shining. Of course he didn't mean it, and it should have put Sam off just a little...so why was he harder?

Rico glanced up past the Lab's head, and a second later the otter appeared with a large tray. As he sat it down, their margaritas were revealed in all their humongous glory. Both glasses held at least twenty ounces, and must have cost at least ten dollars each. Sam hadn't gotten a margarita at the Duck before, and he certainly didn't know that restaurants outside of the Mexican genre even carried things this far. He would be buzzed for sure. They both would. Rico's glass had an extra inside lip since his was liquid versus blended. The otter spilled nary a drop, which was more than impressive.

"Alright, guys," he said, laying the drinks in front of their respective owners, "try and tackle these babies. I watched 'em being made, and you better be able to taste the Patrón." Rico took a long inital slurp from his, and Sam watched him shudder and grimace. The otter waited for absolution.

"Excellent," the parrot crackled, sounding like he'd just taken a hit off a joint. "Give the bartender my compliments."

Smiling, the otter replied, "Awesome! Aaaaand, the chowder." Two heaping bowls of clam chowder were placed in front of them, steaming and smelling of the sunset from which they'd just come in. Sam stuck his nose up close and took it in...creamy, subtle, marvelous. Rico was busy with his liquor. "Anything else, gents?" Sam shook his head and, with a flick of his wrist, the otter dug into his apron and tossed some saltines on the table and padded away.

It was almost too good-smelling to touch. The last time Sam had been to Sanibel had been six months ago, but ever since he'd wanted to take Rico here and show him a good time. It was worth the drive, worth the hassle, and worth the price just to have a special evening. And it was tur--

"Rico? Something wrong?" Sam looked up from his bowl and saw his friend's stricken expression. The color had drained from him, which was difficult because there wasn't any way to drain color from feathers. His eyes were glazed and tiny, and he licked his beak repeatedly, as a mammal would lick chapped lips. "Too much alcohol already?"

Rico gave a hurk sound. His talons carved shallow furrows in the table top. A fine sheen of sweat was forming below his eyes so fast Sam could watch it. "I'm not feeling well. P-please forgive me, Sam...I'll be back presently." He pushed away hard from the table, seemed to tear his eyes from his chowder, _hurk_ed again and stole away to the far corner of the Duck.

Sam waited, staring at his congealing chowder, for a whole minute before worry got the best of him. He stood and made his way through tables and guests to the restrooms at the other end of the restaurant. The Lab could hear Rico shouting even before he opened the door, and he kept quiet as he stepped inside.

"Filho da puta!" The parrot was in the far stall, as evidenced by his clawed, scaly feet. He panted. He sounded sick to his stomach. "I thought I was done with this merda. Dammit, Zé, you and your stupid connections! Never...*cough*...never should have agreed. Crackers...why did it have to be crackers? RRRRAAAAWWK! PRETTY BOY! PRETTY BOY! Biscoitos! Dammit..."

_Crackers? Why would he react to crackers? He would have told me if he had a gluten allergy...wouldn't he? S_am didn't have time to think of much else because Rico moaned from the stall, a low, uncomfortable sound. He was just about to ask if he could help when he heard the rapid flapping of a feathery arm. What was that crazy bird doing, trying to take off? Beneath the stall door, Rico's talons curled and squealed along the tiles. It got very quiet, except for that systematic rustling, and then Rico grunted.

Sam thought he was going to see a puddle of vomit, but instead got splatters of white all over the floor at the parrot's feet. The fucker was clawing off! What the hell? thought the canine. He watched, springing an instant boner, as Rico sprayed his seed all over the stall door, its remnants coating the tile in a slippery mess. He felt sorry, but couldn't help getting hard. One thing was obvious: he was going to get to the bottom of Rico's mysterious statements one way or the other. It went without saying that they wouldn't be finishing their dinner, and Sam was out a decent chunk of change for this evening. He might even be able to find out the sexual angle.

And it was pretty much exactly that. Sam waited at the table until Rico returned, looking slightly the worse for wear, and complained of stomach problems. The Lab said he understood, and paid the bill, leaving a table full of uneaten chowder and melting liquor. It was a loss, but Sam intended to get to the bottom of it, at least so he wouldn't need to deal with it again.

The car ride home was more or less silent. Rico tried to apologize twice, but quit after Sam told him it was okay, really it was. The sun was gone now, and off to their right was a vast expanse of blackness where the next thing west was Corpus Christi, 1,000 miles away. Since there wasn't much to look at, Sam could focus on driving and, with the help of the radio, things went quicker than on the way down, even though it most certainly took longer than before.

Rico began to open his door even before the Civic was full in the garage. Sam set the parking brake and got out, bleeping the alarm. "Where are you going?" he asked. The parrot looked about to bolt. He was nervous and twitchy, nothing like his usual laid-back self. Sam's curiosity was definitely piqued. "You're not just gonna blow me off, are you?"

It did look like just that. Rico looked like he would have preferred to drive away without an explanation or anything. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be, Samuel. I'm not feeling well."

"I know that. Why don't you come inside and have a drink with me? Water, at least. It'll settle your stomach." Rico stood, balancing from foot to foot. He had to think about it? "I just bought a dinner that nobody ate. The least you could do is stick around for a while."

The pained expression lifted a bit from the parrot's face, and his fingers unraveled themselves from in front of his belly. Running a hand through his head feathers, he acquiesced. "You win. Perhaps it's better to settle myself before I go home." Sam offered his paw, and led Rico into the house.

"Why don't you freshen up in the bathroom while I get that water," he said. Rico agreed, as the Lab knew he would, and went off to wash up. He could smell the acrid odor of anxiety through Rico's natural cologne, but more than anything it was just a ploy to get him out of the kitchen for a few precious minutes. As soon as his friend had left, Sam grabbed a glass and poured water into it, found a couple of antacid tablets in his breadbox (it had long ago ceased storing bread) and brought them out to the coffee table. He went back to the cabinets, and rooted around for a bit before finding what he really wanted: a big box of saltine crackers. He failed to see what kind of power they held, but he had to know the connection with Rico. Ripping open one of the pouches, he brought it out and set it right next to the water, the first few spilling like cards onto the table. Then he sat and waited.

The toilet flushed. The sink ran. The door creaked open, and a moment later Rico appeared from around the corner. "I should let you know you are almost out of toilet paper," he said, coming around the couch and sitting down. Sam waited. "I didn't see any extra, so I assumed...I, uh, I assumed..." The change was immediate, and even stronger than earlier in the evening. The Brazilian mirth, the vibrant attitude, even the confident positioning of his limbs--it was all gone, replaced by a small, quivering puddle of a parrot. Rico's jaw tightened, and he would have been biting his lip had he had one to bite.

Sam smiled, not because he was pleased with himself but because he'd confirmed the source of Rico's behavior. Now was time to make the connection with what he'd said in the restroom...and the resulting sexual release.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost or something. Just like you looked back at the Duck."

Rico tried to cross his legs knee-over like he always did, but he couldn't make it work. He looked terribly uncomfortable. "It's a stomach irritation, nothing more," he said, tossing the tablets into his mouth and chewing them up. He washed them down with the entire glass of water.

"Stop lying to me," said the Lab, leaning forward. "If I hadn't come after you earlier, I would leave it alone. But I was worried about you, and followed you in. And I heard a lot of weird stuff, Rico. Who is Zé, and why did you spooge all over the stall?"

"Oh, Deus no céu." Rico looked genuinely sick now. His eyes were fixed on the pile of crackers. There was an air of longing, a desire that was more than a little disturbing. Rico was a parrot in a corner with no way out but to explain to his best friend some seriously odd shit. He palmed his face, pulling it into a kind of rictus for a moment. "Choo are going to hate me, Samuel."

"I won't hate you if you tell me the truth."

Wringing his hands, Rico sighed and closed his eyes. "Back when I was in Brasilia, I was a partier. I made the rounds. It was like Carnivale over and over again, day after day. But it was just the booze and dancing. Then I met Jose Carioca. Zé for short. I was in love. Are choo sure choo want to hear about these intimacies, my friend?"

"All I care about is why you're doing what you're doing." And as Sam said the words he knew they weren't just a cover-up for a jealousy that genuinely wasn't there.

"I met Zé on the dance floor, one hot night in Baia. We connected. I was horny, so unbelievably horny. He had the most beautiful green plumage. He dressed impeccably, his straw hat and smoking jacket always perfectly clean and crisp. And he smoked the sweetest cigars, I tell choo Sam, they were like candy."

"If he was so special, where is he now?"

Rico looked down. "Caught the show business bug. He went off to join a group of cavalieros or something, his schedule was so full. But I had already moved to America. He was bad for me."

Sam was intrigued now...nevermind the hot-and-heavy with this other bird. "Bad, how?" He indicated the "tube" of saltines on the table, which Rico was still eyeing with longing. The parrot nodded, sighed again.

"He got me hooked on crackers. Don't ask me to explain what it is, because not even I know. He told me it was a tropical bird thing. I didn't believe him when he crushed one up and made a line on a mirror one night at his place. He told me to snort. I figure, what the hell, right?" The more Rico talked, the faster he went. Like he wanted to get it over with. If they made him sick, he would have asked Sam to take them away. But he watched them as he spoke. The Lab could see he wanted them.

"And what happened?" asked Sam, picking up a cracker and popping it into his mouth. Rico's jaw dropped, and he wasn't able to catch the runner of drool that dripped from his beak to the table. "You got a little something there," he said, spitting bits of cracker onto his shirt. Rico started, leaning forward but caught himself...a little too late to avoid looking like a former junkie ready to go back on the sauce.

"So I snort it, just to humor him, just to satisfy him...and that was it. Like cocaine, it was!" The parrot began gesturing wildly with his fingers. "We were up all night doing...well, you can imagine what we were doing." Sam nodded. He was imagining, all right, imagining a bulge into his pants. He began to wonder...

"Next thing I know is the following morning, I have a headache, and we're both naked. I don't have to fill in the details, but from then on I was addicted to the stuff. Zé and I were getting crackered nearly every day. I had to get out of there."

Sam picked up another cracker, sniffing it and watching the parrot's reaction. Rico's tongue licked at the edge of his beak, black on yellow, his eyes watery.

"I...I was lucky to leave with my life...it, uh, was getting out of hand, and...and...Sam?" his voice was tiny. "Why are choo eating those in front of me?" The Lab smiled and swallowed. There wasn't anything special to it, no irresistible flavor...but it was doing things to Rico that Sam was liking, and it only took a glance to see the tight fly on the parrot's khakis. Whether a Pavlovian reaction or not, Rico was responding...strongly. Sam had his plan, and he didn't think his friend would object one bit.

"It seems to me that the crackers aren't quite done with you yet...and more importantly, you're not done with them." Sam took a third cracker, crunched it up in his paw, and let the salty powder crumble into his muzzle. Didn't do anything for him, but Rico was almost crazy. He'd shed the skin of the relaxed foreigner he usually carried, and Sam could see the parrot he was back then. Desperate, hopped up, and probably a mite thinner. It likely went without saying that if offered to him, Rico wouldn't be able to pass up a taste of his past. He bent forward and scooped up the crackers, carrying them with him to the kitchen. He heard a squawk from the living room, much like the one he'd heard in the loo at the Duck. It brought a very canine grin to his face.

He returned a minute later with two glasses of water and the crackers. Rico sighed when he saw the plastic "tube" again, like a long-lost friend. "Why don't we have a snack?" the Lab asked, walking around the back of the couch so the parrot wouldn't see his tail wagging. "I'm not using these for anything else, so why not eat them up?" Sam plucked a cracker from the plastic and held it in front of Rico's beak. It acted like a magnet, pulling his tongue out the closer it got. The parrot's left hand was buried in his crotch, poking and tugging. "You've got to be starving."

"Starving...yes..." Rico mumbled in a near trance. But when he lunged forward to snap the cracker out of Sam's paw, the Lab took it away, gaining an agonized whine.

"Not without a small fee."

Rico's hackles went up, as much as feathers could, as he turned around. "What do you mean, 'fee'?" He tried to look incredulous, but his inner desperation showed through all the stronger.

"I don't know, something reasonable. Say, one piece of clothing for each cracker?" That would mean only three crackers would get the parrot in the nude, and Sam didn't think Rico would want to stop after just three.

"Choo are blackmailing me..." But Rico didn't mean it, not even close. Bribing, maybe, but not quite blackmailing. His hand was still clawing at his pants, the bulge within even more pronounced. Sam didn't have much convincing to do.

Putting an arm around the parrot's shoulder (it was quivering and clammy), the canine floated the cracker in his other paw just past the end of Rico's beak. "I suppose I could let you have this first one free of charge." And when Rico bit down, it crunched into his mouth. It was gone immediately, and the sounds the parrot made were indulgent and loud. He swallowed, belched and closed his eyes.

"Hello, velho amigo," he said to the room. "So nice to see you again. It's been a long time." He opened his eyes, and they were clear...clear but wild. Sam was staring at him. "What?" Sam just held up another cracker, and the parrot's calm shell cracked and fell into the old depths of substance abuse...even if it was just crackers. "Não! Not fair!"

"Yes fair. Can't ya eat just one?" But Sam knew the answer to that. He'd birthed a monster, and now it was up to him to cultivate it. "The shirt, or no more. You know the rules." Instead of arguing like the Lab thought he was going to do, Rico hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt and threw it over the table, where it landed on the other side of the diminutive living room. The parrot's chest was a spray of bright red, his belly akin to a four-square ball made of feathers. Sam openly groped himself, and he knew Rico was looking...but he didn't expect the parrot to smack his tongue at it.

"Good boy," said the Lab, tossing the cracker, which was caught midair in Rico's skilled beak and devoured just as fast. This was a side of his friend Sam hadn't known existed, but he was beginning to like it more and more. Rico was normally such a calm, organized person, but seeing him out of character--ruffled and almost wild with desire, more like he might have been in a past, younger life--excited him to the point of not caring what he had to do to get what he wanted. And that, of course, was Rico himself.

The parrot kneeled on the couch, its cushions sagging under his weight. From his point of view Sam couldn't see anything below Rico's chest, but he'd been in that position before and he knew it was provocative. He took another cracker from the package, twirling it in his black pads. Rico watched it, enraptured. "You want it?" Of course he did, but he would have to prove it. "Catch!"

Sam tossed it hard across the room, and it lifted on one side like a frisbee, shanking off. Rico lifted himself off the couch and snapped it up loudly. His entire chest puffed out, and he flapped his arms as he came down, gulping and smiling from one side of his beak to the other. "RRRRRRRAAAAWWWK! God, that is wonderful..." he churred.

"Now the pants," Sam reminded, but didn't expect Rico to strip all the way down. In no time the parrot was back on the couch, completely nude and very erect. "Holy hell," mumbled the canine as he squeezed his knot, making a fairly large wet spot in his boxers. It was time for those to come off. But first he had to get a look at his "captive" bird. He tossed another cracker, not even bothering to look because he knew Rico would catch it anyway, and made his way around the couch, fighting to hold back a moan when he saw his nude friend sprawled out and proudly on display. As the parrot turned his head to follow the Lab, Sam chided him, "No, turn back around like a good boy."

"Choo have more crackers...I can smell them!" Rico sounded betrayed, and if the two weren't in a controlled environment right now it would be cause for concern. They would have to talk things over, but after Sam was done having his way. And if Rico's reactions were any indication of his affinity, the parrot wouldn't mind one bit. Sam just hoped Rico would be willing to do this more often, and without the crackers. For now, though, he would have to use mind-altering...starches. The parrot was on the verge of squawking again...but that just made the whole thing that much hotter.

"Yes, but you'll have to earn them," Sam said, admiring the plumage from behind. Rico's rear matched his belly in terms of roundness, and it was probably just as solid. His tailfeathers, fanned out and raised, blended to a bright tropical blue before ending in yellow. Everything between his legs was covered in a red down, from the base of his cock to the base of his tail, and looked impossibly soft. His hole shone and winked, begging the canine to enter. And enter he intended to do. Quickly undoing his pants and shoving them off, along with his shirt, Sam approached Rico from behind. The parrot's back arched with his breathing, stoic but reticent.

The Lab pressed his plump sheath under Rico's tail. The heat was exquisite, and both males groaned. "Are you going to be a good boy and do what I say?" Sam wanted so badly to just press in, but there were more crackers left to play with.

Rico whimpered, his head down, cowed. "I am a good boy. I do what I'm told. Pretty boy, pretty boy, RAAAAWWWK!" Flap, flap, flap. He pushed back and down with his hips, skinning the tip of the canine's sheath back and for just a moment he was inside...only half an inch, but it was enough to get him squirting pre all over the bird's hole.

"Good," Sam said, and pulled away with more force than he thought it would take. "I'll be right back." He padded (more like jogged, he was so horny) to the bedroom and pulled a storage bin from under his bed, where he kept all his naughty playthings. Grabbing a bottle of lube, he stumbled back to his feet and made his way to the kitchen for the rest. A minute later he returned to find Rico hadn't moved a bit, not even to stroke himself. He was being a good boy.

"Sammy, please, what are choo doing?" the parrot whined.

"In due time," Sam replied. "Good boys are patient boys, remember?"

"Rawk."

The Lab wouldn't need much time anyway. He couldn't find a mirror, but his cutting board would do just as nicely. He set it on the coffee table out of Rico's vision, brought out a pawful of crackers and tossed them into a wooden mortar, and pounded them with the matching pestle he had received from his parents for Christmas some number of years ago. It was strong mahogany, sanded smooth and finished flat, and the pestle moved easily over the crackers as the Lab ground them into a fine cream-colored powder. When he was satisfied with the consistency, he poured the pile onto the cutting board. Taking his bank card from his pants on the floor, he arranged three thin lines. And the final touch? A rolled-up dollar bill. It wasn't like Sam had a hundred just sitting around. The setup was complete, as he wanted it to be. He knew next to nothing about drug use, or cracker use as it were, but he'd seen Dateline. That would have to do.

"Sammy..." Rico moaned, and when the canine looked over he saw the parrot slowly humping the air between his cocktip and the couch cushions. "I'm good, I'm being sooooo good for choo..." That glistening rosebud winked at Sam, making him gulp audibly. He was starting to lose to lust as well.

"And good boys...good and pretty boys..."

"RAAAWK! PRETTY BOY!"

"...get their rewards," the Lab finished as he brought the cutting board around the back of the couch where Rico could see it. And when he did, he went crazy. His beak opened wide, his black tongue lolled out, and he let out a series of shrieks loud enough to notify the neighbors for sure. It was a good thing one of those houses had foreclosed a month ago. The parrot spread his arms, bent them and flapped wildly in place, shedding a few feathers around the room. The sight of a chubby parrot trying to fly was almost too much for the Lab, but he settled for pushing back his sheath to its base. That was a relief and a half. Sam presented the dollar to his friend. "You may have one."

Rico nodded silently and took the bill without so much as a thank you or a glance in Sam's direction. He tilted his head and, in one swift and practiced motion, snorted the cracker powder completely. His body went stiff for a few seconds as he held his breath, then he shuddered. Then relaxed. Then licked his finger and swiped up the little bit he missed. Then looked up at the Lab with the clearest of eyes.

"Choo are a bastard."

"How so?"

"Choo are enabling me." Sam watched the parrot's rear wag, and squeezed his knot.

"You're the one who's taking hits off my cutting board, Rico. I ain't enabling shit." And, just to annoy the parrot, Sam leaned down and licked up the second line with one pass of his broad, flat tongue. Rico responded by flapping around again, but he maintained his position on the couch.

"Va' se foder!" the parrot nearly screamed, fury boiling behind his glare, his neck three times its size. Rico literally looked like a caged bird.

Sam took the board with him as he backed away from Rico. "I don't know what that means, pretty boy, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't respectful to someone who holds all the crackers. Just for that," he said, taking the last line and sprinkling it over the wet shaft of his member, "you have to lick it off." Though he didn't think Rico was the kind of person to refuse when a cock was placed in front of him.

"Bring it to me." Sam supposed he could let that go, since he remained the one getting sucked. He could see the parrot start to salivate the closer he walked, and by the time he was a foot away Rico had his tongue extended and twitching. The Lab thrust his hips forward the last few inches, and Rico licked the underside of the head at the same time, getting a spurt of pre into his beak as a prize. Sam couldn't be sure, but it felt like he was even hornier after licking up that line. It couldn't possibly be that; it was just a collection of starch and salt. Psychosomatic or not, he just went with it.

Rico had pushed forward, burying his beak up to the base of the Lab's knot. His tongue was fatter, triangular and his saliva was more viscous, lending itself to a heavenly thick slickness. All he had to do was stand there while the parrot did the work, which didn't seem like much for the effect it was having. It was only a few minutes of light thrusting before Sam had to back away, much to Rico's drug-fueled chagrin. The good thing was, Sam was already lubed for what he really wanted. And the parrot seemed to know it.

"Choo are delicious." Sam hoped that was the honest truth and not some admission from an altered mind. But Rico looked lucid...more lucid, in fact, than he did in sobriety.

Sam ruffled the bird's headfeathers. "Thatta boy. Gettin' me all ready." Rico sighed and wagged. This wouldn't take long at all. Walking back around the couch, cock in paw, the Lab stroked himself; the feeling was fantastic. Rico's thick spit was just the thing for an easy entrance. And that entrance looked wonderfully enticing right about now. Rico was back to humping the air, but he would fix that soon enough. He didn't need words, and he didn't need permission. He just hiked up Rico's tailfeathers and shot a few strands of pre onto the parrot's hole before applying pressure. It spread easily.

"Raaaaawwwk!" The sound was low and long, and sounded more like the everyday Rico. "Oh, Sammy, please..." When the Lab had eased in only an inch, the parrot backed down the rest of the way and before he knew it, Sam was knot-deep and moaning right along with his friend. Rico's 104 degrees compared to his own 101 made so much of a difference, as did the parrot's ever-clenching hole. It wasn't virgin-tight, but Sam already knew that. For a moment, he tried to picture Zé: bright green, yellow beak, straw hat and cigar and pressed jacket, in this same position, taking advantage of a fellow bird in a compromising situation. Feathers touching feathers, a nice tapered avian cockhead sliding right where his own knot was spreading wide...

Sam opened his eyes, and he was thrusting. No, he wasn't moving, but it was Rico who was rocking his hips over the canine's length, the whole thing, his head buried into the cushions, moaning and panting and uttering what the Lab guessed was a string of Brazilian cuss words. He began to take over, grasping Rico's hips and extending his claws until the parrot let him go at his own pace. Now Sam could take in every contour of the hot wetness, feel the ring sliding over every vein, spreading through the middle where it got fatter and almost pinching near the head, where the taper fell off sharply. He knew he could edge as long as his knot stayed outside, but as far as resisting the urge to shove it in...well, all bets were off.

Meanwhile, Rico had tucked one hand under his belly, where he was stroking himself rapidly. It didn't seem like he was a fan of taking his time to climax; all things considered, though, after what he'd been through he probably deserved it. Now would have been a good time to pull back on a dog collar, but Sam had been too focused on the crackers to even think about rooting around in his other drawer of naughty stuff. But, he thought, birds did have a scruff, didn't they? Shuffling forward onto his toes, Sam grabbed a pawful of Rico's neck, finding all the loose skin and feathers he needed.

"Rrrrrufff!" the parrot exclaimed, appropriately.

"Oh, you're a puppy now? Is that what you are?" panted the Lab, teasing Rico with the first third of his knot. "Are you going to be a good puppy for me and make a mess?" Rico nodded emphatically and wagged his tailfeathers against the Lab's belly. It tickled a bit, but it was so hot to look at. He pulled back more on the parrot's neck, making him gasp, seeing his arm move at a frantic pace. "There you go...let it all out..." With his other paw, he stroked along Rico's side, caressing the curve of his belly.

And Rico barked. Hunched. Twitched. Clenched. And Sam knew he would need to buy some cleaner for his couch. The parrot's load literally sprayed from between his legs, noisily landing against the back and cushions. With one final squawk that sent spittle flying from his beak, Rico collapsed the only way he could: back onto his calves, which forced Sam's knot up into him, and it was all over.

Sam tried to pull back out, but the parrot was limp, crumpled up and spent. It looked like he'd completely passed out. The good thing was, he'd passed out with his ass in the right place. Sam had already been close, and now that he was trapped, his black-furred balls were up inside his body, pumping their way to his cock. All he could do was claw into Rico's hips and dance from footpaw to footpaw, pulling the parrot's bulk to his waist as he finally emptied himself in a copious, sublime, draining wave. Stars danced in his vision, and every spurt was accompanied by its own surreal color. The world shifted, and when he could see properly again they were both on the couch, on their sides, tied and spooning. Slowly, his breath returned.

"Rico?" he asked, pulling back a few sweat-soaked feathers from the parrot's forehead. God damn if he wasn't sleeping, his breathing deep and slow, the sleep of the truly exhausted. Sam smiled to himself. It was a despicable thing he'd done, exploiting a friend's addiction (albeit weird) for his own sexual gain. But something told him the parrot had been more consciously invested than he'd wanted to let on. His cock twitched and let flow a new shot of seed, and the canine dwelled on the bliss of the moment. Nothing they could do about it now, he supposed. But as he reached around Rico's belly to hold him close in the tie, he found the parrot's cock still dripping...and still hard.

***

The rain had just stopped falling as the black Lab finished his mojito out on the lanai behind his house. It was still sprinkling, but the sun had already emerged from the dark pillow of cumulus dotting the sky. No rainbow, but the light filtered through every drop and made the backyard sparkle, almost effervescently. Sam had been safely under a giant umbrella, reading a magazine and waiting for his client to show. He would probably be late, like always. But, he came, like always. He came because he had to. Because Sam had something he needed. The Lab pushed his sunglasses back onto his muzzle, and he didn't have to squint anymore.

There it was: the buzz of a high-strung Studebaker engine, rounding the corner three blocks away. The parrot was driving hard, by the sound of it, most likely driven by his own desperation for a cheap high. But it would come at a price, a price he was always willing to pay for a service Sam was always willing to provide. He stood and stepped over the wet grass to his back door, adjusting the collar on his shirt and the fly of his jeans, which were already tightening from an expectation of things to come.

The doorbell rang, three times in rapid succession. It had been a while since Rico's last visit, hadn't it? He must be desperate by now.

Sam opened the door to a sorry sight: the parrot's feathers were disheveled and out of place, his jeans dingy and ripped at one knee. His eyes had a vacant stare, the stare of an addict deep in his own self-serving world. As a final touch, his shirt was halfway untucked with its buttons in the wrong holes. The Lab looked down and tried to swallow his smile, but he couldn't help it.

Wow, he went all-out this time, didn't he? Whatever gets him off, I guess. Because whatever got Rico off always got Sam off, and if that meant playing up his appearance, then so be it. He turned the smile into a predatory smirk, and raised his head.

"Did you bring what I asked you to, pup?" Rico whimpered and looked down in what would have been shame if his eyes hadn't betrayed his thespianism.

"Yes, just as you asked. I brought them to choo."

"What was that?"

"I brought you...these," the parrot said softly, holding up a thick black leather leash and studded dog collar. "Sir." Sam's sheath twitched and swelled anew. He raised the parrot's beak, leaned in and licked across its underside. Rico's tongue lashed out at the very end, catching the canine's for a moment. Sam brought out the arm that had been behind his back, revealing the package of crackers he'd picked up in the kitchen on his way to the door.

"Good boy." Rico panted, drooling. He loved this part. "You know the trade."

"Yes, sir," he replied, not being able to help his own genuine smile as he stepped into the Lab's house, scaly fingers already fumbling with his oddly-fastened buttons.

Falling off the wagon had never felt so good.

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3/18-4/12/09