Author's note: a couple of content warnings are in order here. One: this is a gay male story. Two: this is a nonhuman story; all the characters are birds. And not your anthropomorphised human-shaped furry-style birds, these are bird-shaped birds with bird anatomy.
If you're in the small minority who haven't run for the hills after reading that... enjoy!
* * *
I allowed myself a small squawk of triumph as I landed. Waking up so early had been
worth
it. I'd just claimed one of the best perches on the whole seafront. It had an eye-catching position on a slight promontory, overlooking a busy section of the promenade. And best of all, there was only one other perch on this corner - and that currently empty - meaning I shouldn't have
too
much competition for attention.
This wasn't going to be a repeat of last year. Last year I'd arrived late - much too late - and had been forced to settle for a fourth-rate perch at the unpopular north end of the promenade, almost hidden from sight behind a large thorny bush. I hadn't mated with a single female
that
year.
I looked myself over and chirped in embarrassment. The early start and hurried flight hadn't left time for grooming and there were feathers sticking out at odd angles all over the place. Prime location or not, I wasn't going to woo anyone in
this
state. I began the slow, methodical process of putting myself in order, preening my feathers into their proper arrangement with my beak.
"Ahem."
I looked up. A female, staring at me quizzically. I was, at that moment, in a particularly unflattering position, bent round upon myself almost beak-to-bum to preen my tail feathers. I straightened so quickly I nearly unbalanced myself.
"Ah... sorry about that," I said. "I wasn't expecting anyone so early."
"What can I say? The early bird catches the stud."
Stud? I shifted nervously from foot to foot. "My name's Stud.
No!!!
Seppiae! My name's Seppiae!" I felt my neck feathers fluff up in embarrassment.
"Well then Stud, or Seppiae, or whatever your name is, why don't you show me what you've got?"
"Why not? Here I go..."
I spread my wings and began.
The mating display is a freeform art, but the aim is - in essence - to show off your natural assets and try to hypnotise the female with your beauty. I'd practised hundreds of times in front of a mirror, and I was determined not to make a muddle of it now. I began very traditionally, weaving my body from side to side and letting my wings waft up and down. My voice warbled through a serenade I dearly hoped sounded lyrical and enticing, but half feared actually sounded reedy and confused.
I was horribly conscious of my unfinished grooming, but nevertheless I was optimistic. My plumage had come out well this year. Just a few months back I'd been the same nondescript brown as any female, but that had all changed now. Breeding plumage came in many shades, but mine was green. My wingtips were green. My eyestripe was green. True, my back remained a stubborn brown, but my breast and throat were a pleasing pistachio shade. It was my tail feathers, however, that were my foremost pride. They were a deep, dark green shot through with patches and swirls as bright as spring leaves in sunshine, producing a most magnificent display when fanned out and wiggled.
Turning my tail on her, I fanned out and wiggled. They were - I was almost certain - irresistibly seductive little wiggles. Once I felt I'd wiggled enough to get any female salivating, I spun back seaward to claim my admirer.
She was walking away down the promenade, eyeing up another male a few perches down.
I drooped. Was it my incomplete grooming? My singing? My dancing? Perhaps there was something wrong with my plumage? Was it my wings? My tail? My crest?
My crest!
Belatedly, I remembered to raise the tall crest of emerald feathers on my head. I couldn't
believe
I'd forgotten to raise my crest. No wonder she hadn't been interested!
I'd just about finished my grooming when a flurry of wings announced an arrival on the corner's other perch.
"Well met, neighbour," said a smooth male voice.
"Well met," I said before turning to regard my new competitor.
I squawked in dismay. He was
gorgeous
.
His feathers were vivid orange and red.
Entirely
orange and red, without even a hint of brown, giving him more the appearance of a flame than a living thing. And he was
perfect
. Not a single ruffled feather anywhere; his shape sleek and streamlined; his beak a polished alabaster curve.
He bowed and spread one wing, flashing scarlet feathers. "Allow me to introduce myself. Quiriprotelytix."
I wilted a little further. Even his
name
had mine outclassed.
"Seppiae," I replied. "Quiriprotelytix, did you say? That's quite a beakful."
"Isn't it, though? Do call me Quiri, if you prefer. Either will sound just an sweet to me in your melodic voice."
"Quiri it is, then." I bowed back, feeling a little more comfortable now that my name was no longer being overshadowed. "Best of luck in the mating, Quiri," I said without meaning it.
"Oh, I just
know
it's going to be a good year for me. I'm eyeing someone up already." His sharp black eyes grazed over me. "I think you could be in for a good year too, Sep."
I was beginning to doubt that very much.
* * *
Every good perch was occupied now by males of all hues and shades, lining the edge of the sandy bay like gaudy sequins sewn into the hem of a rippling brown sheet. Females passed up and down the grey stone promenade, eyes sliding greedily from one male to the next. Snatches of warbling song glided through the air now from my left, now from my right. A flurry of wings a little down the shore and a female flew up with a smug-looking male close on her tail, heading for the privacy of the woods behind me. A few minutes later I heard squawks and moans of pleasure spilling through the trees. Other couples, less modest in their passion, had dotted themselves across the broad sands of the bay, dots of flashing colour in that drab, watery landscape.
Oh, how I longed to be one of those lucky ones.
But things were going badly. Quiri was stealing the attention of every female who passed by. I thought my own plumage quite fine, but placed next to Quiri I looked positively drab. We both perched with our crests raised, our wings slightly unfolded to give just a cheeky hint of the bright colour within. But his wings were so much brighter, and his crest taller, and everything about him so much more dazzling, that of course the females all homed straight for him like bees to a flower, barely giving me a second glance as they buzzed around him.
One thing gave me some comfort: his technique was far from perfect. His stance, for instance, wasn't quite right: he should have been facing straight forwards to face the passing females, but instead he was perched at a bit of an angle so that only I got a full view of his best side. And everyone knew it was important to make eye contact with females, but Quiri seemed to spend more time watching me than looking at our prospective mates. He didn't even bother to display when asked, just shook his head politely at the many, many requests.
Despite this appallingly amateurish behaviour, he was still putting me in the shade. I considered relocating, but all the good perches had gone already, with a flock of males circling overhead waiting to pounce on any freshly-unoccupied spot.
Damn Quiri and his red feathers! Of course the females were drooling over him. Hell, I was male and
I
could barely keep my eyes off him. But... maybe all wasn't what it seemed?
"Hey Quiri," I said at a quiet moment, "is that plumage natural?"
"Every feather just as Nature has blessed me."
"I don't believe you."
He regarded me with those deep black eyes and tilted his head in question. "No?"
"
Nobody
