It's a week later, starting to get dark outside, when Dustin fishes that scrap of paper out of his pocket and calls the number. It occurs to him that he can't really fault Schuester for being paranoid, when he's half convinced himself that this is just some clumsy attempt to get close to him and steal Vocal Adrenaline's secrets. They ought to give each other more credit than that, or this is just going to end badly.
"Hello?" Will sounds politely confused when he answers, probably because he wouldn't have any reason to have Dustin on his caller ID.
"Schuester. It's me." Dustin kicks back on his couch, as if assuming as relaxed a position as possible will make him sound less like he gives a crap about the outcome of this conversation. "What are you doing right now?"
"Why do you want to know?" Lord, he's not just going to make this simple, is he. Dustin sighs. It's not fair if he has to work for it.
"Because I feel like cooking someone dinner, and this booze isn't going to drink itself. Come on. I'll make it worth your while."
He doesn't know what exactly Schuester was expecting when he gave Dustin his number and implied that Dustin was welcome to ask him out, but apparently, for some reason, this wasn't it. "What is this, a booty call?" he asks, and Dustin makes a face on the other end of the line, because what the fuck, does it sound even remotely like a booty call? Is this really just how Will's mind works all the time?
"You know," he says, "let's say it is. I'd be more comfortable with that, to tell you the truth."
"Then it's a date. I'll bring dessert."
Reverse psychology, Dustin thinks, as he hangs up. This guy is too easy.
True to his word, Will shows up in half an hour with a frozen cheesecake, and Dustin's made spaghetti. Will apprehensively glances around the apartment as if it might be rigged with a bomb. Dustin rolls his eyes and hands him a plate, sprinkling some cheese on top. "Sit down." He indicates the small dining room table with a jerk of his head, where he's set out a couple plates and napkins and generally tried to make it look inviting. He hasn't gone so far as to put out wineglasses, though; that would just be dorky. "What do you want to drink?"
"Whatever you're having," Will says, setting the cheesecake gingerly on the kitchen counter, so Dustin makes them both vodka tonics and serves himself some pasta. It's occurred to him that it seems to make Will really uncomfortable when Dustin does anything that isn't directly related to sex, which is really annoyingly ironic, since he also still seems to be trying to cling to whatever shreds of heterosexuality he can justify.
"I'd say that I wasn't going to bite you," he says, sipping his drink, "but under the circumstances, I can't really promise that."
Will seems to relax, because this is familiar ground, and it's not particularly intimate. "I thought you liked it when I did the biting," he says, eyes flicking down to where the bruises on Dustin's neck and chest have only just finally disappeared.
Half an hour later, they're flopped on Dustin's couch drinking Kahlua mudslides and watching an ancient taped copy of the Les Miz Tenth Anniversary Concert, talking about old musical triumphs from before they were rivals. They're not touching, exactly, just sitting closer than is polite, unconcerned about where their limbs sprawl.
"I bet you were the star of your show choir back in high school," says Will, getting that reminiscent look in his eye. "McKinley's glee club used to be crazy, back in the day. We were on top of the world. We won Nationals, you know."
"My high school never had a show choir," Dustin says ruefully, leaning back and letting his knee carelessly brush against Will's. "Or a football team, or class ranks, or a valedictorian. And we called all the teachers by their first names." He snorts. "Quaker schools."
For some reason, this cracks Will up. "You're Quaker?"
"Not anymore." He stretches, somehow managing to do it gracefully enough that his drink doesn't spill, and changes the subject. "So you got blacklisted from the Lima theater over this?" He indicates the screen, where the rebels are waving rifles around in clouds of fog. "Didn't you try to outsource your part to someone else, or something?"
"I was Valjean." Will shrugs, faux-modestly. Or maybe he means it to be genuinely modest, but Dustin doesn't really think he's capable of that. It's one of the things they have in common. "I thought a friend deserved it more."
"Touching. You're all wrong for Valjean, anyway." Dustin takes a thoughtful sip of his drink. "You could pull off Marius. I bet you have a good voice for it. Valjean's too old."
"Marius, huh?" This seems to mollify Will, who might otherwise have bristled at that. "I always did like that part."
"I played Enjolras in college," Dustin reminisces. It had been a tiny production, lower-budget than anything Carmel would put on, but in retrospect, it seems perfect. That was the last time he'd ever really gotten to perform for an audience, beyond just singing a few lines for his students to show them what they're doing wrong, or the occasional karaoke performance for bargoers who aren't paying attention.
Onscreen, Enjolras is belting out something loud and revolutionary. After a moment, Dustin joins in. "Is this simply a game for rich young boys to play? The color of the world is changing day by day... Red, the blood of angry men! Black, the dark of ages past! Red, a world about to dawn! Black, the night that ends at last!"
When it comes to joining in a song, clearly nobody has to ask Will Schuester twice. "Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels / To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight..."
Loud as the TV is, they can drown it out without even really trying, and Dustin realizes that he's never actually heard Will sing before. He's heard of Will's voice, never actually heard it in person, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. Maybe a tiny bit turned-on, just a little, at that last, effortless long high note. He doesn't know whether that shiver down his spine is admiration or arousal, but judging by the way Will's examining him, it's mutual. "Maybe you should have kept that part after all," he says, and he isn't just saying it because flattery works.
They share the next few songs, trading parts back and forth, shouting at the television with mock revolutionary fervor and clinking their glasses together when the gunfire starts onscreen. By the time the music slows to something more sedate, they're both a little out of breath. Will leans his head against the back of the couch and turns to look at him, and Dustin doesn't break eye contact even as he reaches behind him to put his half-empty glass on the floor.
They lean in at the same time, with the same thought, crushing their mouths together, Will grabbing onto Dustin's shoulders and Dustin sliding his fingers through Will's hair. It's hard to breathe, both of them still a bit giddy with adrenaline and warm from the alcohol, and they can't devour each others' mouths without having to come up for air every few seconds, but what they lack in continuity they can make up for in fierceness, because Will is kissing him hard enough to bruise this time and Dustin won't complain about that for a second. Will straddles him, thighs bracketing Dustin's lap, and the next time they separate for breath Dustin pulls Will's shirt and vest over his head with a single movement. Will, not about to let that go without retaliation, unbuttons Dustin's shirt and shoves it off him without breaking the next harsh, clinging kiss, and Dustin pulls him closer, chest against chest, forgetting himself long enough to groan softly against Will's lips. "Is this more what you were expecting when I called you?" he says, hands wandering down to grab onto Will's ass as he rocks upward, grinding their hips together. Will sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, grinding back in turn.
"Pretty much," he pants, and leaves it at that, because there might be an appropriate time for a discussion of whatever the hell this relationship is, but it's not now. Dustin undoes Will's jeans, yanking them unceremoniously off him and arching his hips to somehow get his own off without having to push Will aside, and now he's no more able than Will is to keep himself from hissing with need when Will thrusts against him again. Will tries to slide fully on top of him, pressing him back into the cushions, but the couch isn't long enough for Dustin to lie down on and it's already hurting his neck. He indulges in one last long, deep kiss before pushing Will away enough to talk.
"Come to bed with me. Don't get weird about it." He's not even going to allow for a rebuttal to that. He gets up off the couch and pulls Will with him, and for a second it looks like Will might object, but he follows without complaint.
He strips nonchalantly naked and stretches out on the bed, beckoning Will with a jerk of his head and deftly divesting him of his boxers when Will joins him. He never had gotten a chance to just lie back and appreciate, and he rests a hand on Will's chest to keep him at arm's length for a moment while his eyes rove over Will's body, lingering on every bit of muscle. "How the hell do you get abs like that when you spend all your free time coming up with heartwarming teaching exercises instead of going to the gym?" he murmurs, fingertips trailing down Will's chest. "...Don't answer that. We have better things to be doing."
"Some of us are genetically blessed, Dustin," says Will, answering anyway with an affected air of saintly modesty. "I guess I'm just lucky."
"Damn right you are. You're lucky about everything." Dustin kisses him, not even sounding bitter about that, though it takes some effort. "Quit bragging and fuck me."
Will's already on top of him, legs tangled with his, licking and sucking sharply at his throat, before he bothers to question this. "Just like that?"
"What?" Anything that keeps Will from continuing to do that with his mouth is a crime right now, and Dustin resents him talking. "Yes, just like that. Come on."
"You're just going to let me." Will's lips travel downward; he remembers where those bruises had been, even if they've faded, and Dustin arches needily up against him because fuck yes, he wants Will to make it hurt again.
"Yes, I'm going to let you. You act like I'm forfeiting a contest or something. There really isn't any great symbolic significance to whose dick goes where." He spreads his legs further apart to settle Will between them, burying his fingers in Will's hair again to hold him where he is, not wanting to let him up. Eventually, though, he has to let go, reaching into the nightstand drawer for the lube without breaking any other contact. He presses it into Will's hand, leaning up for another lingering kiss.
"I-" Will seems to be at a bit of a loss, and of course Dustin hasn't forgotten that he's never done this before, because Will might as well be wearing a neon sign around his neck, but he'd forgotten what all it really entails to be new to this.
He sighs and takes Will's hand, turning it palm-up, and carefully spreads lube over his fingers. Will flexes them thoughtfully, looking up into Dustin's eyes. "I have to say, I'm surprised," he murmurs. "I guess when I thought about this, I thought it would be..."
"More of a struggle," says Dustin, finishing the sentence for him, because he knows. "Don't worry, Schuester. I won't start thinking you like me if you don't throw me against a wall every single time we do this." He grins, and Will smiles back in spite of himself as he pushes Dustin back onto the mattress.
"Yeah," he agrees, "that would be a pretty tragic mistake on your part."
His hands are clumsy at first, but Dustin doesn't tolerate clumsy. He grips onto Will's shoulders and runs his hand down Will's arm, guiding him, angling his body, making Will do it right. "You suck at this," he pants, but then Will's fingers twist exactly where he needs them and he rocks sharply up against Will's hand with a hiss of pleasure. "Do that again."
"Tell me I don't suck, and maybe I will." Will smirks wickedly, and Dustin groans.
"Fuck you, Schuester. You suck at everything but this, then, now come on." He reaches back with one arm to hold onto the pillow, panting and swearing as Will keeps going, still squeezing hard onto Will's shoulder with the other. He grabs Will's wrist to stop him, still breathing hard, and drags Will on top of him, pulling him down for another clashing, combative kiss as Will thrusts into him.
"Still think I suck?" Will breathes in his ear, when Dustin arches up against him and gasps something pleading without even meaning to, and all Dustin can do is rake his nails down Will's back and grind back up against him in response, because he can't even make his vocal cords work to form a 'yes' when he's belying that with every shudder. He hates it when Will gets so goddamn cocky and competent, not least because it's fucking hot, and it shouldn't turn him on like this to have someone posing the very real threat of being able to throw him off-guard. He digs his nails into Will's back and grits his teeth, needing more, every nerve in his body wanting him to beg for it. "Harder. Come on, Schuester, fuck me harder, you can do better than that."
"Can I?" But Will obliges, doesn't try to play with him any further, because he wants it as badly as Dustin does. Dustin grips onto a handful of Will's sweat-damp hair and matches him thrust for thrust, growling rhythmic encouragement in his ear, "come on, yes, come on, fuck, yes," snaking his hand between them to touch himself as Will fucks him. Will's harsh, ragged breath against his skin makes him absolutely melt, and he only wishes for a second that Will were more vocal, because hearing that voice in his ear would shove him over the edge. In lieu of that, he kisses Will again, sucking hard at his lower lip, and buries his face in Will's neck as Will comes. That sound he makes, god, that is never going to fail to send a spike of molten heat through Dustin's stomach, and it only takes a few more strokes before he's shuddering too, his entire body tightening around his partner's and his nails leaving sharp crescent marks in Will's shoulder.
They look at each other, panting, wild-haired, for a long, long moment, and finally Will pulls away and rolls to the side. Dustin closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath.
"All right," he says. "We've found the one thing you don't fail at."
Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say right then, or maybe Will's humor receptors only function when he's aroused, because when he opens his eyes, Will's getting out of bed and searching around on the floor for his shirt. Dustin frowns. "What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving," Will says, as if it should be obvious. "That was fun, though. And hey, thanks for dinner."
Honestly, at this point, Dustin can't even tell if this is part of the game or not. He's not sure Will is sophisticated enough for that, which makes him think this is entirely serious, and that just irritates him. He sits up, lip curled with disdain. "Wow. You treat everyone you sleep with like this? No wonder you're so popular."
Will pauses, boxers on and shirt in hand. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, your reputation for manwhoring does precede you." Dustin shrugs lightly. "You probably don't have time to do the polite thing and stick around. It's cool, I get it. You want to take the cheesecake with you, too?"
"My reputation-" Will stops there, because that's not the issue here. He shakes his head. "Why do you care if I stay? I didn't think you'd want to cuddle."
"There is not going to be any cuddling. I care because it's rude to just roll off of someone and head on your merry way, that's why." It would take prolonged torture on the rack to make Dustin admit that he wants to enjoy Will's company for a while longer, but he doubts Will would want to hear that anyway, so it works out. He rolls his eyes and pats the empty side of the bed. "Come on. Don't be a dick."
"Since when do you care about rudeness?" Will folds his arms, but he seems to be softening a bit. "It's one of your few talents."
"I'm perfectly capable of caring when other people are rude to me," Dustin says, mock-affronted. Will considers this for a moment, fist pressed against his mouth to hide a hint of a smile, and finally tosses the shirt back onto the floor and slides back into bed.
"I'm not making a habit of this," he announces, giving Dustin a warning look.
Dustin smirks. "Of course not." He pulls the blanket up around them, and reaches over to switch out the light.
True to his word, Will doesn't make a habit of staying at Dustin's place after their little hookups, because twice a week isn't a habit. He wouldn't call it a habit when Dustin sleeps over at his place, either, just like he wouldn't call it a thing of theirs to have dinner together and listen to music while drinking increasingly girly cocktails and then make waffles in the morning, even if they've done it more than once.
He's taking Dustin's advice very, very literally. He's taking this for exactly what it is-sex, food and light conversation-and not dwelling on it too much. There is no great symbolic meaning in any of this, and when Dustin says this is strictly a summer arrangement, Will's going to hold him to it. It can't work any other way. It simply isn't conceivable for them to carry this on into competition season, when Will isn't nearly naive enough to think Dustin wouldn't use it to his advantage. Sleeping with each other for fun would turn into sleeping with each other for set lists and blackmail material, and Will wouldn't put it past Dustin to tell the kids about it just to really screw with them. He's going to have to watch Dustin like a hawk once the school year starts, just to make sure none of this ever gets out. He's pretty sure it won't, though, when he thinks about it. Nobody at McKinley would be happy about it, to be sure, but the Carmel arts department probably has rules about their faculty fraternizing with the enemy, or something.
It's not that he thinks Dustin is irredeemable; he's gotten past that by now. Sure, the guy is kind of a slimeball, and he wouldn't know how to play fair in competition if the rulebook bit him in the ass, and he's hell-bent on destroying New Directions and everything they stand for. Sure, he sadistically tortures his students because he's bitter that they have everything he didn't. But for all his faults, he's not any worse than Sue, and Will's still tried to be the better person and work with her before, because it's the right thing to do. There's no reason to be willing to extend the hand of friendship to Sue, even after its been repeatedly bitten, and not give Dustin that same chance, except for the fact that Sue doesn't make him wonder uncomfortably whether bisexual is a label he's willing to accept. It's all going to be a moot point in September anyway, though, so he puts it out of his mind.
It's the first week of July when the water pressure in his shower gets screwed up somehow, and after one frustrating morning when it takes half an hour to get the shampoo out of his hair, he seriously considers driving to McKinley and using the showers in the gym until he can get it fixed.
Instead, as he's lying half-awake in Dustin's bed the next morning, he finds himself reasoning that he'd really rather just go with the easy solution here, the one that involves the least amount of effort. He nudges Dustin in the ribs. "Hey. Can I use your shower?"
It takes a few moments to get a response, whether because Dustin's asleep or because he's thinking about it, but eventually he mumbles some barely-comprehensible assent and buries his head under the pillow again.
Life feels pretty good this morning. It feels good to have a real shower, and the promise of waffles, and a whole day stretching ahead of him to just relax and enjoy. He hums as he washes his hair, and humming flows easily into singing. "Now the promoter don't mind, / And the union don't mind, / If we take a little time, and leave it all behind, and sing / One more song..."
From the bedroom, Dustin sleepily joins in, pitch-perfect despite the fact that he hadn't been awake enough to form a coherent sentence a couple minutes ago. "Oh, won't you stay / Just a little bit longer? / Please, please, please, say you will, / Say you will..."
Will can't help but grin, raising his voice louder as he rinses himself off. "Now the promoter don't mind, / And the roadies don't mind, / If we take a little time, and leave it all behind, and sing / One more song..." Dustin's voice harmonizes perfectly on every note, though he doesn't seem inclined to get out of bed anytime soon. Will repeats the chorus just for the hell of it, laughing a little, just to draw it out, and Dustin keeps pace. Will kind of wishes he'd chosen a longer song.
He wraps a towel around his waist and heads back into the bedroom to get dressed, and only then does Dustin actually bother to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "You know I have neighbors who can hear you, right?" he says.
"Do you actually care about that?" Will hunts around for his shirt.
"Not remotely."
The next time he stays over, Will's shower is still broken, and he's in a 90's mood. He leaves Dustin faintly snoring in bed and lets the water run nice and cool, because it's going to be a hot day. "Snow is falling from the sky in the middle of July, / Sun was shining in my eyes again last night, / Alarm goes off without a sound, the silence is so loud, / Something isn't right..."
He must have really worn Dustin out last night, because theres no response from the bedroom on the second verse, and Will is oddly disappointed. He shrugs it off, because he's on a roll, and keeps singing. On the third chorus, he raises his voice a little louder, and maybe that's what jolts Dustin awake, because he finally joins in. "By the time I reach your door, I cant take anymore, / I just happened to be in your neighborhood..."
"I'm the one who gets surprised, I can't believe my eyes, / Your alibi's no good..."
Will tosses the shampoo bottle into the air and catches it to use as a microphone as they shout out the rest of the verse.
"Whatever happened to the world? Whatever happened to that girl I thought I knew? It just can't be true, I guess I'm losing you..."
"You're going to get me evicted," Dustin hollers from the bedroom, and Will dissolves into snickers.
They do make a habit of this, singing together in the mornings, whatever Will happens to be in the mood for. He hasn't found a song yet that Dustin can't keep up with, and there's just something about it that buoys him for the rest of the day. It's just singing in the shower, like everyone in the world does, nothing special, but having a partner just makes it something else. It seems to make Dustin more cheerful, too, even if it wakes him up earlier than he otherwise would. He's less insulting, more laid-back, less inclined to make Will eat the burned waffles and keep the better ones for himself.
Will's in the mood to be naughty this morning. He turns the shower on hot, soaping himself up, and grins as he sings. "Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on, / Livin' like a lover with a radar phone, / Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp, / Demolition woman, can I be your man?"
He can hear Dustin cracking up from the bedroom, and somehow that just makes it better. He turns it up a notch. "C'mon, take a bottle, shake it up, / Break the bubble, break it up..."
"I'm not singing that," Dustin protests, but Will's not going to let that stop him.
"Pour some sugar on me, / Ooh, in the name of love, / Pour some sugar on me, / C'mon, fire me up, / Pour your sugar on me, / Oh, I can't get enough..."
The shampoo bottle is seeing good use as a microphone again, and Will's really putting his heart into it, making every word drip with sex, just for kicks. He pauses, hearing the bathroom door swing open, and Dustin pulls the shower curtain aside and pokes his head in. "At this hour, Schuester? Seriously?"
Will shrugs angelically, but he doesn't get the chance to justify his song choice. Dustin slides into the shower and pulls the curtain closed again, resting his hands on Will's hips. Will swallows, stomach fluttering in a way he's not sure what to do about. "What are you doing?"
Dustin shrugs, nonchalant as ever, slipping his arms loosely around Will's waist from behind. "What can I say? That was almost as hot as it was ridiculous."
Anything that deviates from their usual pattern throws Will for a loop, because there's nothing about what they're doing that Will isn't still getting used to. But he thinks he could get used to this, whatever it is, Dustin pressing warm, slow kisses to the back of his neck and burying his mouth in the curve between neck and shoulder and sucking heatedly as his hand slides down over Will's stomach. Will closes his eyes and leans back, breath catching in his throat, and reaches back blindly to tangle his fingers in Dustin's hair, angling his hips upward before Dustin even takes him in hand. Dustin strokes him slowly, keeping his other arm wrapped tight around Will's waist and holding him closer, pulling him back until their bodies are completely melded against each other, and Will doesn't know what to do with his free hand but he wants to be touching Dustin somehow in return; he feels bad that this is all one-sided. He wants to make Dustin whisper profane things in his ear like he usually does, because it's strange having him so quiet, nibbling at the edge of Will's ear without any words, squeezing Will's cock and stroking harder just to make Will gasp.
He leans back further, bracing himself on the wall with one hand, and Dustin takes the hint and pushes Will closer to it, still stroking, still kissing his neck. Will pulls Dustin's arm tighter around him and shifts his weight, leaning back, until Dustin's cock is between his legs, the tip pressing against his balls, and Dustin is shivering against him and melding closer still. Will leans his head back to rest it on Dustin's shoulder, hips arching into Dustin's tight grip, and Dustin rocks slowly against him, cock sliding between Will's thighs, exhaling warm ragged breath over Will's damp skin. They fall into a rhythm, with Dustin stroking and thrusting and Will rocking back against him, his hand clenching into a fist against the wall, and god, none of this would ever have occurred to him for a second but it feels so good. It's so unbelievably good, warm and wet and shuddering and he never thought he would enjoy the feel of Dustin's arms around him like this, but right now, it's fantastic. He slams his hips into Dustin's hand again with a choked, needy gasp, and Dustin rests his forehead against Will's shoulder with a deep shudder, pushing him to the wall until there's barely any space and thrusting harder and faster and giving Will's cock another squeeze, and that's enough to make Will see stars as he comes with a deep, raw growl. Dustin responds with a helpless moan, pressing into Will one last time and coming too, stroking him lightly until both of their aftershocks fade.
Will's entire body feels limp, and he turns to lean his back against the wall for support as the feeling comes back to his limbs. He looks up at Dustin, neither of them really in any hurry to say anything, because there isn't a whole lot to say. Will sure as hell doesn't know what hes supposed to think about this, let alone how to put it into words.
Dustin kisses him before he steps out of the shower, a long, slow kiss with the water starting to get cold, arms around Will's waist again, and Will lets him. He rests his hands on Dustin's chest and just kisses back, tilting his head to let it deepen, until neither of them can breathe and they finally separate.
"...I'll go make coffee," Dustin says finally, because one of them has to break the silence somehow, and he seems to want an excuse to get out of the shower. He disappears back into the bedroom, leaving Will to stand there under the cool spray, staring through the curtain at the door.
He can't place what's making this feel so strange, and it's making him jittery. Dustin's kissed him like that before, and it hadn't disturbed him then and it shouldn't bother him now, except that it's different.
Every single thing Dustin Goolsby does, every word, every mannerism, has a smirk to it, this indelible disdainful sneering quality that distances him from the peons he's deigning to talk to. Will's gotten used to it by now; he's never liked it and he never will, but he can put up with it because it's just who Dustin is. That kiss hadn't had that smirking quality. That kiss had been quite possibly the only sincere thing he's ever seen from Dustin.
He's not sure if this is a good sign.