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It was just too perfect a day not to spend some time outdoors, Xodiac thought. The winter had been long and hard, but spring had finally arrived, just in time for Easter. And so the dragote decided to have lunch in the large park down the street from his apartment.

In the clearing across from the bench he'd chosen, a pair of large prop eggs, painted for the coming holiday, lay in the grass. Nearby, a short goat-human crossbreed was setting up cameras, lights, and other equipment, with a small tent was set up to one side. Once his sandwich was consumed (ham and swiss on rye, delicious!), Xodiac decided to wander over and see what was up. Besides, he felt the urge to say hello to a fellow hybrid. The way his mixture had turned out, the guy looked like a satyr.

"Oh, just shooting some photos," the man explained when he asked. He gestured at a pair of enormous prop Easter eggs. "Get some models on and around these."

"What's the product?"

"No idea. They're just going to be stock photos. Put them out and if they're good quality, someone will find a use for 'em. They pick one they like, lay a caption over it or something, and poof, an ad for iced tea or some medicine, or something. Maybe announce an Easter brunch at a church somewhere. Whatever."

"Sounds good. Mind if I watch?" Being unemployed kind of sucked, but one of its perks was there was plenty of free time to enjoy. Xodiac thought watching professional models at work would be an admirable way to fill some of his day.

"Go right ahead," the guy said. He reached up and rubbed one of the hornlike nubs on his forehead. "Actually, want to earn a little money? I'm a little short on help. Some people never showed up."

"Sure!" Xodiac said enthusiastically. Money was always good. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just go in the tent over there," the... satyr, said, waving vaguely in its direction. "There's some friends of mine in there that'll take care of you."

The tent was a simple affair one might find in any outdoor living store. Had it been used for camping, it would have been quite roomy, but as a place to store equipment or props it seemed awfully small. There wasn't anything to knock on, so the dragote simply pushed the flap away and ducked inside, careful of his horns. "Hello?" he called out. "The guy outside said you needed some help?"

Despite the thin fabric, it was oddly dark within the tent. It wasn't pitch black, but it was very dim, like the tent was make of several layers of cotton and not thin nylon. "And you agreed?" a high, thin voice said from the dimmest corner.

"Sure," Xodiac said. "I could use a little cash. What do you need me to do?"

"Just hold still a moment!" the voice replied, sounding eager.

Xodiac got a sudden impression of a swarm of fireflies rushing at him from the corner with the voice. He barely had time to take a startled half-step back before they surrounded him. They spun around him like a tornado, fairly blinding him with the lights flashing inches from his face.

There was a gentle tug on his tee shirt, another on his jeans. Then his boxers. The dragote looked down, but the whirling whatevers obscured his vision with their flashes. He felt something around his hips, then stomach. Something wrapped around his chest, snug but not uncomfortable. There was a tug on his leg, but upwards, not down.

"What the hell?" He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of hundreds of tiny fluttering wings. "What is going on?"

There was a sudden weight on his feet, and he felt something wrap gently around his neck. With a soft rustle he felt fabric drape over his body, from shoulders to thighs. He felt something feather soft run over the fur around his muzzle and eyes.

And with that, the fireflies – or whatever they were – withdrew back to the corner. Mostly. One remained, flying slowly around the dragote as if on inspection. Xodiac squinted and could, just barely, make out something like a human in the center of the glow. A human with insect wings, an inch or two high. He hadn't ever thought fae were real, but it looked like he was wrong.

"Perfect!" the familiar voice declared.

"What is?" Xodiac asked, and looked down.

He was wearing a short purple dress, with bright yellow buttons down the front and a bow around his waist. Poofy sleeves accentuated his shoulders, and he could feel the tickle of petticoats making the skirt even poofier. The scales of his legs were visible, but only through the translucent sheen of lavender stockings, and were capped off by a pair of purple heels that sported a bow over the buckle around his ankle. A quick check explained the feeling around his neck, as he fingered the bow tied around it. No doubt it, too, was purple.

That it was his favorite color didn't diminish his exasperation. "Oh, for crying out loud!" he exclaimed. "I said I'd help, not get dressed in drag!"

Again, some part of him said. This just kept happening!

"Right!" the... the fairy said. "Our model never showed up. You volunteered to fill in! Thanks!"

"That isn't what I mea—"

"You all ready in there?" came the satyr's voice from outside. "I have a schedule to keep, you know, and only have a permit to shoot here for today! Let's goooo!"

"I am not stepping out of here like this!" Xodiac yelled back through the tent flap. He reached up towards the buttons on the dress.

"Yes, you are!" said the pixie. "You agreed!"

"I will nwhaaa?" Xodiac's defiance was interrupted when his arms snapped away from the buttons. Instead they parted the tent flaps and his legs, entirely against his will, took him outside. "Hey!"

The satyr gave him a quick once-over. "Okay, that'll do fine. Climb on the egg and start posing, doll."

"Doll?" the dragote bellowed. He scowled at the diminutive photographer.

"Hey, that's not the expression we want on our model," the satyr chided. Xodiac felt his face relax, his mouth curling upwards into a winsome smile as his eyes half-closed seductively. He caught a glimpse of extensions on his eyelashes. "Good! Much better. Now get up there. We have photos to take!"

The dragote turned and headed towards one of the eggs, hips swaying. He tried to protest again, but his voice, it seemed, was as much under the fae's control as his body. He climbed up and leaned back on one arm, the other behind his head to fluff hair he didn't own. "How's this?" he said obediently.

"Great, honey, great!" the satyr said. "Tilt your head a little... good!"

The camera clicked for the first of many, many times.

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Sometimes, a YCH jut begs to be bought. This one was done by  raya-banana. You can see her posting of it here.

The story, of course, is my own. 1,167 words (this part).