Fugly by K Z Snow

of the couch. He pulled his iPod with its portable speaker system from one of the pockets. Todd watched him set it up on the coffee table.
    It was ironic, how much effort he’d put into turning a blind eye toward Gabriel. The misery that had saturated Todd’s youth had been caused by other people’s blindness toward him . Sure, he was noticed now…but was he any better off? Hardly. By cultivating his appearance, he’d simply been fostering another form of blindness. Few people saw beneath his groomed and sculpted surface.
    He got up and sat on the couch, where Gabe joined him.
    “Maybe I should have the Ella Fitzgerald or k.d. lang version,” Gabe said, his voice still muted with sadness, “but I like Linda Ronstadt’s the best. It’s more poignant than jazzy.”
    The singer’s voice blossomed throughout the room.
    Todd, eyes lowered, listened. His right arm rested snugly against Gabe’s left. He could easily have gotten teary if he’d let himself, but he wouldn’t let himself. He had something important to say.
    When “Skylark” ended, he looked at Gabe. “Maybe, if we give each other a chance, we can make that song irrelevant. I’d like to try. And not because you’re my last resort.”
    “No?” Gabe’s tone was neutral. He was still guarded, and understandably so.
    He deserved an explanation.
    Todd’s gaze moved aimlessly over the floor, as if he hoped to pluck that explanation from the nap of the carpeting. He wished he had a better mastery of words. His solitary profession didn’t require much in the way of communication, and it occurred to him that was one of the reasons he’d chosen it.
    He forced himself to look at Gabe. “I’ve always been afraid of disappointing you.”
    There. He’d finally admitted to the fear. Beneath all his dismissive blather about Gabe’s height, Todd had been terrified of falling short. He was four years older than Gabe. He wasn’t nearly as outgoing or openly compassionate, as intelligent or articulate or creative. He’d turned down all those invitations because he liked Gabe too much, not because he didn’t like him enough, and could foresee only rejection in his future once Gabe tired of him.
    Gabe not only met Todd’s gaze, he seemed to be peering deeper, digging past all the posturing. “You’ve never disappointed me. Except by refusing to let me into your life.”
    “I’ve always wanted to,” Todd said ardently, determined to make up for his phony indifference. “I’d love to spend more time with you, away from here. But I wouldn’t blame you if you’re put off by the way I look now.”
    Without hesitation, Gabe leaned forward and gently touched his lips to Todd’s. Todd drew in a sharp breath. As light as it was, the kiss held more promise than all the sloppy tongue-thrusting he’d engaged in with his pick-ups.
    “I’ve listened when you’ve talked,” Gabe said. “About Toad, and your dog Sparky, and your grandmother’s death, and all the hope you’ve squandered on your tricks. I know how you feel about our work and the people we’re doing it for. You have a tender heart, and if I didn’t think you had a lot to offer, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.” Gabe drew back a little farther. He added with a hint of a smile, “How you look is just a bonus.”
    “I don’t understand.” Todd was deeply touched and insanely grateful and completely baffled all at once.
    Gabe made a sly pass along Todd’s inner thigh. His hand came to rest high up, his little finger barely grazing Todd’s cock. “Your allergic reaction is obviously clearing up.”
    Todd tried to ignore his flare of arousal and process what Gabe had just said. “You mean it’s cleared up since the last time we saw each other?”
    “I mean it’s cleared up since you walked into the room.”
    Reluctantly, because he still dreaded what he would see, Todd got to his feet and went to the wall mirror. The face that stared back at him was the face he was