"Men's formal wear is more complicated than you realize," came Wesley's muffled voice from the bathroom.
"I can get dressed in half the time you've taken, and don't even try to tell me there's any comparison with women's clothes. One word: pantyhose."
The door opened a crack. "It's just," Wesley confessed, "I'm a little anxious. I haven't dressed up like this since your prom, and you remember how well that went."
"Actually," Cordy said brightly, "I don't. I have completely blocked from my mind any period of my life in which I was attracted to you."
There was a short silence. "Oh. How encouraging."
"If you don't come out here in one minute, I'm going in there, and I don't care how dressed you are."
"I think Virginia might have something to say about that," Wesley muttered, but he came out a minute later, anyway. Gunn kept his eyes fixed on the sword he was oiling. He'd seen an awful lot of Wesley lately. They'd been working together so much that sometimes it seemed like he was never looking at anything else, and since Wesley was a geeky English guy instead of a nice honey from around the way, that was just flat-out wrong. "Cordelia! Not the camera!"
"It's for your own good. You have to get used to it if you're going to be going out with Virginia Bryce. You need to learn how to handle the paparazzi."
"The paparazzi can manage without any help from me."
"Sure, you say that now, but after you get some bad pictures in the paper, you'll be kicking yourself for days. Vamp--um, that is--mug for the camera! Come on. Just once..."
"Oh, all right." Gunn could hear Wesley take a deep breath. "The name's...Bond. James Bond."
Cordy giggled, and Gunn couldn't help looking up. Wesley was pointing two fingers at the camera like a gun. And wearing a tux. Gunn's mouth dropped open. The man looked totally different. Most of the time, Wesley went around in clothes that even the old men hanging out on the corner in his hood would be embarrassed to be seen in. But this outfit...this outfit was sharp. Wesley looked smooth, confident, sophisticated, in control. The white-boy version of Billy Dee Williams. Gunn never knew he had it in him. That, he told himself, that must be why he couldn't stop staring.
"Close enough," Cordy said, and put the camera down. "All right, I'm off to throw myself into my own social whirl. Don't forget to lock up, Gunn!"
She was gone in a minute, and it was all Gunn could do not to pick up the camera himself and start filming again. Because he wanted to make sure they had lots of tape of Wesley looking like that. Because it would crack grumpy old Angel up, and he could tease Wesley about it later. Because Wesley...Wesley was a hottie like this, and someone should preserve the image, in a museum maybe, or at least in his VCR.
Where the hell did that thought come from? he asked himself, and quickly stuffed it away, but he had already gotten up and started approaching Wesley.
"Gunn? What's the matter?"
That was a weird question. He couldn't look funny because he felt perfectly normal. He just wanted to..."Your collar's a little crooked, man. Let me get it for you."
Crisp white fabric under his fingers. It felt good, so good that they kept moving, right onto the shoulders. Underneath the smooth wool of the jacket, Wesley's arms were lean and firm; Gunn kept drawing his hands back and forth, trying to push the texture right into his fingertips, it felt so amazing. He was also realizing that Wesley smelled great, with some kind of earthy cologne...the way he'd always thought he would. He needed to smell that better, and the skin above Wesley's collar looked so soft, he just dove right in. It was even better close up, and if he smelled so good, how would he taste? Gunn stuck out his tongue for a good long lick--
Then hands were pushing him back. "Gunn--Gunn--"
He staggered away, and for a minute, all he could think of was that he had to get back so he could taste again, but then his head cleared and he stared at Wesley. He'd been macking on a bony-ass white boy! He was...damn, he'd got all hard! He skittered back over to the weapons and grabbed an axe. "Wesley, what the fuck--"
"Gunn, what on earth are you--" Wesley slapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh, no!"
He raised the axe. "Wesley, if you know what the hell's going on here, you'd better tell me right now, before I cave your head in."
"The glamour. Oh, dear, the glamour."
Wesley turned and walked a few steps away, and even then, Gunn caught himself admiring his ass. It wasn't even his kind of ass--he liked it when baby had back, low and round and ripe for grabbing. Not, he told himself desperately, not when some guy was high and tight and firm, the way Wesley was now that he worked out more. It was only with an effort that he lowered his voice and said, "The chick magazine? Maybe you read that sort of thing, Wes, but I sure as hell don't, so I don't get--"
"No, no, it's a spell. To make me more attractive. I was nervous about going out in these clothes, around all those Hollywood beautiful people, and so I cast a spell. Just a little one."
"A spell that makes people do that? You out of your mind, boy? Trying to get molested by everybody at the party?"
"It's not supposed to work like that!" Wesley protested. "To most people, it should simply make me seem mildly more charismatic. It's only meant to have a strong effect on people like Virginia, people who are already quite attracted to..." He trailed off, blushing and suddenly unable to meet his eye.
Sweet Jesus. "Then you must have messed it up, man," Gunn said quickly. "Made it way too strong."
"Yes, of course, that must be it," Wesley hastily agreed.
Virginia, of course, picked that minute to walk in. "Ready to go?" she asked. Her eyes fell on Wesley, and she almost purred. "You certainly are, baby." She grabbed his arm. "Let's go. The limo's waiting."
"Yes, I must be going. You will lock up, won't you, Gunn?" Wesley asked as Virginia hustled him towards the door.
Lock up, hell. He was going back to his place and locking himself in, and not coming out til Wesley swore the spell was worn off. He gave the handle of the axe a good wring before dropping it and running out the back door.