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"Tell me, Panchito," asked the parrot while lazily swirling his margarita. "Have you ever been to Baía?" He licked a bit of salt from the rim and chased it with a long draw on his straw. After a few rounds he'd decided to just buy the bottle and mix their cocktails at the table instead of bothering the bartender. Consequently, their current round was much stronger than the others, and Panchito Pistoles was feeling muy bueno.

The rooster leaned back and looked at José Carioca through glazed eyes. "I must admit, my friend, that I have, in fact, been to Baía." He leaned forward and whispered, "And so have you."

"That is not in the script and you know it." José fought back a series of hiccups, but not before his Panama hat canted almost right off the side of his head. "But I cannot deny your claim. We are in Baía, no?"

"Si," Panchito agreed with a nod that sent the world spinning a bit too much for his taste. It occurred to him that he might not want to finish his current cocktail, but it also occurred to him that it would be a terrible waste. Smooth as silk and potent, it rivaled the stuff he was used to back home, and home was Mexico, so that was saying something. "I'm finding it's true, what we are saying about this place. It really does cast a spell, doesn't it?"

"Why do you think they picked it, hm? The colors, the wildlife...the girls." José waggled his eyebrows and made a growling noise. "Even so, I can't wait until we travel up to Mexico to shoot. I've never been. You'll have to show me around."

Smiling, Panchito held onto the table for a little extra balance. "After the hospitality you've shown me in your mother country, I would be more than happy to." He paused to wink. "Just wait until you see the girls up there!" He let out an ululating wail, the same kind he'd been rehearsing for weeks while he acclimated to life on a movie shoot. José already had a feather in his cap from 1942, so the rooster depended on his friend to show him the ropes. Panchito had been chosen because he had a beak for the screen and a lively personality. The rest, as they had said, would have to come through practice. And practice they had.

José brought his ever-present cigar to the side of his beak and took a few puffs. "Ah, yes," he said with a faraway look. "The girls. Do you think Donald will succeed in his search for a companion tonight?"

"Hard to say," Panchito admitted with a shrug. "On the one hand, he is clumsy, hard to understand, and a different species than the girls he chases. On the other, he is a star. He has been for ten years, can you believe?"

"Ay, caramba. We should be so lucky. We are just here to take Americans' minds off the war."

"You think so?" Deciding he couldn't pass up the rest of his drink, the rooster downed it in a single gulp. It didn't even burn anymore, but he shuddered just the same. "I like to think we are bringing a little extra culture to them as well. They are so...como se dice...drab, and we are so colorful." He spread his fingers and flapped a little. "You, un poco more than me."

Ice cubes clinked softly against José's glass as he followed Panchito's lead. "Ahhhh, que gostoso. I disagree, my friend." With one smooth motion he clipped his bow tie so it lay like a dead snake around his collar. "We are complementary, you and I. Rojo y verde, they work very well together."

"Yes, they do. We do." Panchito raised his glass for a toast, but laughed when he remembered he had nothing with which to toast. The empty tequila bottle offered no help either. He reached for it and fell short. "This will not stand. Next bottle is on me."

José's eyes widened, warm sparkling mocha, and he reached across the table to put his gloved hand on the rooster's bare one. Something about the look in his eyes commanded an audience, and his beak conveyed a sobriety neither of them currently possessed. "Señor Pistoles, meu amigo, I must insist we hang our hats before we do some damage. I am enjoying your company, and this wonderful tequila, but we must be responsible." A gentle smile brought up the corners of his beak in a way that told Panchito he knew what he was talking about, and the parrot would brook no argument.

The contact reassured him as well. José Carioca had his best interests at heart, and it made his spirit swell with gratitude.

Was that his spirit swelling? Que extraño...

"You are right, Zé. Oh,discúlpeme...may I call you that?" Where had that come from? He glanced at his empty margarita glass and wondered if he'd overdone it. He didn't feel sick, just warm...and fluttery. He hoped his heart wasn't reacting to the booze.

José didn't remove his hand, but it was comfortable there anyway. "You may, mi galo. Thank you for asking."

"Su...su gallo?" If Panchito's feathers hadn't been red to begin with, they'd be red by now.

"Sim!" Even as he sent more cigar smoke into the air, the parrot's hand remained. "My friend, my rooster. Why, did you think I meant something else?" When Panchito yanked his hand back José gave a great peal of cawing laughter, slapping the table while rocking forward and back. Then he stopped and held his head. "Meu deus, we should lie down. Can you stand?"

Before the rooster could find out, José had slid to the floor and maneuvered behind Panchito's chair, hands at the ready should he lose his balance. "Come on, my friend. Let us retire, eh?"

"Eh," the rooster managed, but got to his feet anyway.

Four long minutes later, after multiple missed steps and a couple of stumbles, the birds arrived at Room 212, José's room paid for by Disney at the Hotel Safira on the _baía_in question. Panchito had keys to Room 214, but the parrot unlocked the door, pushing inside while bringing the rooster along.

"You look like you need as much help as I do, papagaio." He listened to himself slur every third word from a few feet away. At least it seemed like it.

José kicked the door shut, leaving them in darkness until he pulled a lamp string to bathe the living-room part of the suite in yellowish light. Had one of the parrot's hands been on his hip the entire time? "No one has called me that in a very long time," he said. "I like it."

"Is that so? I think it would roll off the tongue of some _chica_while you made her sing to the ceiling."

"You might say that." The parrot's face became a silhouette as he turned. One eye glinted. "Heh. You might not." Carefully moving to face Panchito while never breaking contact, José grasped his other hand for stability. "Papa Galo sounds good, too."

The part of Panchito that would have pushed away, made some bumbling excuse and taken him to his own room, simply didn't exist. "Y-you're drunk, señor," he meekly stammered.

"So are you, so we are even. Did you know your beak turns a beautiful shade of pink when you blush?" Only now could the rooster feel the heat in his face, down his neck, into his magenta jaqueta, fluffing his chest feathers.

"José...my friend...you are mistaken, I'm afraid," the rooster began, trying to push the parrot's hands away but only succeeded in moving them to his hips, where his holsters normally sat. He offered a half-hearted giggle, cut off by a gulp when he felt what was happening just below his belt buckle. This is crazy, he thought numbly. He's crazy. One at a time, the parrot took off each glove. And when he ran his green fingers up through Panchito's red chest, it just plain felt good.

"I don't make mistakes." José pushed himself onto his toe tips, bringing their beaks even. "Not about this." Funny how the rooster didn't realize how long it had been since he'd touched beaks with anyone. José's was smooth, lacking the pits and striations of a more blue-collar bird, a bird who had to work for his seed.

Bird...seed. The thoughts ran roughshod over any semblance of rationality.

"Plenty of chicas in Baía, you know."

"I know."

"I am sure many of them would not hesitate to make friends, yeah? Especially after seeing you in Saludos Amigos. How could they resist?"

José Carioca worked the rooster's belt buckle free surprisingly quickly for someone so inebriated. "They would not be the ones resisting."

Panchito fumbled uselessly at the parrot's fingers. He couldn't seem to get a decent grip. "You forget, señor, that you are quite the ladies' man." Thereafter followed a nervous giggle.

"I am an actor," José corrected, breath tangy with tequila. Panchito's pants puddled at his ankles, and at once he felt a wonderful, masterful stroking along his length. He'd never be able to maintain hardness like this with a woman, and he didn't know how to feel about that. "One must be good at being something one is not." When the parrot locked beaks, sending both hats to the floor, Panchito didn't resist. José's tongue was a welcome visitor.

With his eyes closed Panchito could almost pretend some buxom beach beauty swooning before him, but still he snuck peeks at the parrot's face. Whether it was due to the alcohol he didn't know and couldn't tell through his foggy thoughts, but the soft stroking of his dick shouted down most everything else in his head. He was too dizzy to make it to his own room and too horny to pass up a free feather job. If he had regrets in the morning, he would deal with them in the light of day.

A slow and passionate kisser (how Brazilian, Panchito thought), José slid his other hand up the rooster's back, pulling on the _jaqueta_until it slid off his slack arms, and traced the length of his spine down to his trio of twitching tail feathers. He teased there before settling on Panchito's rump, squeezing in rhythm with his stroking up front. Panchito simply kept on sucking the parrot's tongue and moaning lewdly. He mewled when José pulled back, but he wasn't disappointed for long.

"I think," José murmured as he took off his hat and set it on one of the bedposts, "that you want something more than just some fingers." He climbed up onto the bed, settling onto his back with his stubby legs spread to allow an unobstructed view of his arousal. Short but thick, as opposed to Panchito's long and thinner member. But what really mattered was the pink nub nestled in its downy green valley. "Am I wrong?"

Numbly realizing his complete nudity, Panchito crawled onto the bed, steadying himself as he went. He lost his footing and almost came cock-to-beak with José, but all he got was a nice heavy whiff of parrot musk. It reminded him of lavender and oyster crackers. He wanted to lick that hole wide open but decided that might make him look too eager, though it wouldn't change the reality of what he knew he couldn't stop himself from doing.

"You...you will understand if I don't reciprocate?"

"Of course, my friend!" José said jocularly. "For tonight." Images appeared in the rooster's head that made his cock surge and shamed him simultaneously. For tonight.

"Bueno." Off came the bow tie, which had miraculously not yet fallen off, and Panchito let out a celebratory squawk each time he successfully undid a button. The parrot's blazer spread open like butcher paper, displaying its tender contents.

"You will need some help." Eyes twinkling, José spit onto his hand and brought it down, rubbing over his hole before penetrating himself with a lustful gasp. Panchito watched, stroking just below the point of climax. Just hours before, he had watched this same bird cavorting with a duck and a score of brightly-dressed ladies while filming a scene. Now that bird was asking him to spit on his own cock to make it easier to slide in. He couldn't process the dissonance.

But what he could do was let the parrot aim him with a thumb and forefinger, pressing against the hot flesh before it gave way--all too easily, he thought--and surrounded him with a furnace no woman could ever approach.

"Meu deus," José moaned, his neck feathers on end. "Que maravilha..."

Panchito merely watched the flesh spread open to take him, inch by pulsing inch. "I...José, I must...I will not last long, I mean."

Dreamily, the parrot pulled his right leg further up with his free hand, thrashing his head side to side before meeting the rooster's gaze. "It is not so late," he breathed. "If you can give it again, I can take it again." Panchito fed in another inch. José's chest rose and fell with his excited panting. "Yes, grande galo, all the way!"

With a whoop, the rooster thrust his hips until his red feathers intermingled with José's green like some sort of fiesta loco navidad.

"Cogerme," Panchito muttered at his buried shaft, at the velvety sheath.

"Sim," José concurred. "Oh, oh, oh..."

With a deep breath, Panchito Pistoles looked to the ceiling, crossed himself, and prayed for stamina.