Dustin starts preparing Vocal Adrenaline's set lists and sketching out choreography ideas at the beginning of August. It's pretty late to be leaving it, given the sheer amount of work it's all going to require, but he'd wanted to actually appreciate his vacation for a while, and then this whole thing with Schuester has been going on, and that's been taking up more time than he expected. As long as he has September's rehearsal schedule meticulously drawn up by the time school is in session, he thinks he'll be all right, but he doesn't like cutting corners. Second place is not going to cut it this year. It hadn't been good enough last time, either, but he'd let the kids be happy about it anyway, because maybe there's something to the idea of cultivating loyalty instead of fear. He's not going to say it works for New Directions, since twelfth place is just pathetic, but he supposes he might as well try supporting his kids a tiny bit more and terrifying them a tiny bit less. A little Stockholm syndrome never hurt anyone.
Will's probably not doing anything yet, given how fond he is of just leaving everything to the last goddamn minute and winging it and not even having any choreography at all, but Dustin doesn't actually know what Will's got planned for this year. He hasn't tried to find out, partly out of courtesy, and partly because he's concerned that Will would get suspicious and break things off on the spot if he did. Usually, Dustin encourages his image of reptilian treacherousness, since it's really pretty accurate, but this is the one time he's actually not trying to take advantage of anything, and he would like some credit for that. He doesn't want to lose this over something he didn't even do.
But then, it's August, and that means he's going to be losing this soon anyway. It's not easy to put that out of his mind, but work is a good distraction, and he's been trying to think of some other ambitious project he can take on to keep his mind off the idea of just...not seeing Will anymore. He tells himself it wouldn't have been the same anyway, because he spends half his time during the school year sleeping in his office at Carmel, and he doesn't have time for crap like singing shower duets and making waffles when he's got a nationally-ranked show choir to run. Vocal Adrenaline doesn't allow personal lives during competition season, and if he has to turn himself into a soulless automaton from September to June, then that's what he'll do, because this is the most prestigious job he's ever had and he's not going to let some fling with a straight guy jeopardize that.
He's been debating whether he should enjoy the rest of this month as much as he can, or whether he should start backing off now to ease himself into it, and then he gets irritated with himself because that shouldn't even be a question, because he shouldn't care. It shouldn't hurt when he kicks Schuester's ass to the curb in September, or when Schuester dumps him first, whichever happens, because he shouldn't be invested in the first place. It's just that competition season had seemed so far away when they'd started this, because after weeks of 24/7 rehearsal, a whole summer with nothing to do had felt like an eternity.
And he'd never meant for it to turn into this. It was supposed to be sex, not...whatever the hell this is, not letting Will genuinely make him laugh, not wrapping around him in the shower and kissing him and realizing he doesn't want to let go.
He keeps thinking about that, and it unsettles the hell out of him. He'd considered breaking it off altogether after that, just flat-out telling Will to fuck off, or doing something awful to make Will sever ties with him, so that Dustin wouldn't be tempted to kiss him like that again. He justifies it by telling himself that Will obviously doesn't want feelings involved in this either.
It doesn't stop him from letting Will through the door with margarita mix and cookies the week after that weird shower incident, though, and business continues as usual. It would seem that his fabled steely self-discipline doesn't actually extend to anything except his ability to forgo sleep and food in favor of rehearsal. He pretends to be asleep when Will starts singing the next morning, though, and then he pretends it doesn't make something twinge in his chest when Will looks so disappointed over breakfast.
He lightly jostles Will's shoulder as he clears the dishes, just being playful, not because he's actually affected by Will's sad green puppy eyes or anything. Will gets up to help, gathering the rest of the silverware and putting it in the sink, but he doesn't let Dustin leave the kitchen. He catches Dustin's arm, pulling him back, and Dustin waits with a little thrill of curiosity.
"You have some strawberry sauce-right there." He reaches out to swipe his thumb slowly over Dustin's lower lip, and Dustin's pretty sure he doesn't have any strawberry there at all, but he's just going to go with this, because Will has this way of just exuding slow, steamy sexuality from every pore when he wants to, like he's emitting pheromones or something, and whenever he decides to do that, logic can just go ahead and take a backseat. He curls his tongue around Will's thumb, drawing it into his mouth, and Will's eyes light up with something wicked. He lets his thumb slip from between Dustin's lips and reaches up to cup his cheek, pulling him down for just the promise of a kiss, until their foreheads rest against each other and they're breathing the same air. Dustin hasn't touched him yet, because he feels like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, somehow. Will doesn't usually initiate this, and when he does, it's usually because he's angry. This is new.
"You're up to something," he says, finally resting his hand on the small of Will's back to pull him closer.
Will bites gently at Dustin's lower lip, pressing further, winding his way into a real kiss, pushing past any resistance until their tongues twine together and Dustin's hands are under Will's shirt again because what the fuck, two whole hours without feeling Will's skin against his is apparently too long now.
"Why do you say that?" Will murmurs against his lips.
"Because you never kiss me without slamming me against the nearest vertical surface first. This is the first time making out with you hasn't put me at risk for a concussion. What are you playing at?"
"I'm not playing at anything." Will reaches behind him for the jar of strawberry puree on the counter and dips a finger into it, and as wary as he is, Dustin can't keep his body from tensing in anticipation. Will trails his finger along the underside of Dustin's jawline, down his throat, and leans in to lick it away, sucking every last trace from his skin. Dustin thinks this absolutely counts as 'playing at something,' but his knees have gone weak, and maintaining a healthy degree of skepticism about this suddenly seems like a really stupid thing to do when he can be unzipping Will's pants instead. Will keeps moving steadily downward, sucking hard at the hollow of Dustin's throat and nipping sharply at the skin for good measure, and Dustin's barely keeping his hands steady as he shoves Will's clothes aside, just wanting to be touching him. Will groans against him and pulls Dustin's shirt over his head, and Dustin's reluctance to take his hands off Will long enough to toss his shirt aside is driven out of his mind when Will bends his head and catches a nipple between his teeth, tugging without a hint of gentleness.
Dustin swears virulently and pulls Will closer, not knowing whether to kiss him or rip his shirt off or demand that he do that again. "Are you trying to make me drag you back into bed for the rest of the day?" he pants, his hand finding its way into Will's jeans again and stroking with a fast, steady, need you rhythm. Will presses his face into Dustin's neck with a sharp intake of breath.
"You want to?" he asks. It doesn't have the tone of a hypothetical question, but neither does it sound like a 'yes please,' and Dustin backtracks even as Will's hand teasing at his cock through his pants makes him tremble.
"I'm not going to." He's grateful that that seems to be the end of talking, as Will takes him in hand with that same urgent rhythm. There's no finesse from either of them, no more scheming, at least not on Dustin's part, just plain simple want you to come for me. Will, not usually vocal, gasps Dustin's name as he climaxes, and Dustin, usually profane enough to put a sailor to shame, doesn't say anything, just buries his mouth in Will's neck.
Dustin's not going to kiss him this time. He's learned his lesson about that. He coolly regards Will, who's looking expectant and breathless, and turns away after a moment to wash his hands and toss Will a damp paper towel. "That was fun," he says.
If Will's disappointed, he doesn't show it. "What made you think I had some ulterior motive?" he asks, frowning as he straightens his clothes out.
"I told you. You never start anything unless you're pissed at me. Usually there's biting involved, too."
"There was," Will rightly points out, gesturing toward the red marks on Dustin's chest. Dustin's glad he doesn't have any meetings with the Carmel administration this week, because that mark on his throat is going to be purple for a while and none of his shirts can cover it up.
"I'm not mad at you," Will continues. "You just seemed...preoccupied. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
That is not something Dustin hears a lot of. He can't remember the last time he did, actually, which is why he wants to believe Will actually means it. Will can be manipulative; Dustin certainly knows that much, but he's also a pretty crappy liar, and he seems sincere right now. But Dustin's not the type to just fall all over himself any time someone claims to care about him, and he's supposed to be easing off on that shit anyway so it'll just be a clean break at the end of the summer. He opens his mouth, considering an appropriately flippant answer.
Will doesn't give him the chance. "I guess I should get going," he says. Before Dustin's little twinge of disappointment can register, Will squeezes his shoulder and leans in for a last brief, unexpected kiss. It's almost affectionate. It's definitely the closest thing to affectionate Dustin's seen in a long time.
Fuck it, Dustin thinks, and cups Will's face in his hand to kiss him back, rough and sweet simultaneously. Detachment can wait until September.
They don't cuddle after sex; they never have, because Will doesn't seem interested and Dustin's not about to try it and risk getting laughed at. They do have pillow talk down to an art, though, lounging in bed with the covers tangled around their hips and just talking about whatever random stuff suits their fancy. They're still avoiding the subject of work; there's a tacit understanding that discussion of the glee clubs is off-limits, lest one of them let something slip that gives the other an unfair advantage. When Will actually brings it up, even in a fairly innocuous context, Dustin can't entirely conceal his surprise.
"Do you ever do any kind of teaching exercises at all?" he asks. "Just...team-building stuff, that sort of thing? I'd think it would help, if you want your kids to work as a cohesive unit and everything."
Dustin snorts, because the idea of needing coaching advice from Will Schuester is almost insulting, and he doesn't know what the guy's getting at here. "First of all, I'm not a teacher. Second of all, my kids are already a cohesive unit. They don't need exercises for that. They do what I tell them. If you discipline them enough, they'll work however you want them to work."
He's well aware that real educators tend to be horrified by his coaching methods, and he's expecting some kind of outrage, but Will merely turns to give him an inscrutable look. "You are a teacher," he points out. "You're certified. You're technically as qualified as any of the other faculty at Carmel."
"What's your point?" It's true, but that doesn't mean Dustin mentions it to people when they ask what he does for a living, and he's not sure how Will even knows that. "They didn't hire me to teach; they hired me to coach Vocal Adrenaline. Just because Sue Sylvester's certified to teach phys ed doesn't mean she calls herself a gym teacher."
"I just can't believe that you don't care about those kids even a little bit," Will says, and this is really, truly, literally the last thing in the world Dustin wants to be talking about right now.
"What do I have to bribe you with to get you to change the subject?" he demands. Maybe he can get Will to take a hint, for once.
"You know, you keep going on about how I don't rehearse enough or lay out the set lists far enough in advance," Will continues, barreling ahead whether Dustin wants him to or not, "but you don't seem to get why."
"That's because I don't care," says Dustin flatly.
"It's not all about the competition. Not all the singing we do is supposed to be finetuned for an audience. Most of it is just...confidence-building. Some of it's just for fun. I know you can't comprehend the idea of doing anything that's not going to directly affect your club's chances of winning, but you do understand how therapeutic singing can be."
"I'm kind of tuning you out right now," Dustin informs him, stifling a yawn. "Just so you know. Poke me or something once you're done talking about this."
"I did this exercise once." Will soldiers doggedly on, and Dustin is paying attention in spite of himself, even as he turns his back on Will and pulls the sheets up around him. "It was about...self-esteem, about recognizing what you hate most about yourself and just owning it. Taking something that causes you pain or self-consciousness and putting it out there so that you can see how little other people care about it."
Dustin doesn't respond, because he doesn't want to encourage Will to keep blathering about this, but he has to wonder exactly what Will's getting at. His curiosity is ever so slightly piqued, though he's still considering trying to distract Will with another round of sex.
"I had the kids think about the one thing they would change about themselves if they could, and put it on a t-shirt, and wear it when they performed for the school."
Privately, Dustin thinks that's just as cruel as anything he would do to his own students, in its own way. He's not about to say so, though. He'll never get Will to shut the fuck up if he does.
"I want to know what would be on your shirt."
That makes Dustin turn around and take notice. Of all the directions this stupid conversation could have taken, he wasn't expecting that one. He doesn't know just how offended to be, but he's offended nonetheless.
"There wouldn't be anything on my shirt," he says, "because I'm your colleague, not your student. I wouldn't do any of your exercises if you paid me."
"I made my own shirt to wear with them," Will says. "So did the guidance counselor."
"That's touching. I still wouldn't have joined in."
"Hypothetically," Will persists, propping himself up on one elbow and settling closer, until Dustin can feel his body warmth and sense the outline of his muscles beneath the sheets. Somehow, Dustin thinks that this is kind of a dirty trick, and he would ordinarily approve, but not right now.
"What did you put on your shirt?" he asks, because if Will's going to make him answer, it's only fair. Will looks slightly sheepish.
"Well, I mean...it wouldn't have been appropriate to put anything really personal on it, you know, because they're students, but, uh. They're always making fun of my chin, so I put 'Butt Chin.'"
Dustin remains stonefaced. "Are you kidding me?"
"It made sense at the time."
"You're building this up like it's some kind of deep, personal, empowering thing, and you put 'Butt Chin.' Does your chin actually cause you serious psychological pain? I mean, do you lie awake at night praying for your chin to un-indent itself so that you can live a normal life?"
"All right, fine," Will concedes, holding up his hands. "It wasn't completely in keeping with the spirit of the exercise. That's not what we were talking about, though. I asked you."
"If teachers get to cop out of it like that, then I'd put 'Too Attractive To Be Taken Seriously' and be done with it." He resents the fact that he's actually going to be thinking about this now, though. He's not sure what an actual example of a good shirt slogan would be, but he's not going to ask Will what the kids had put on theirs. It would be useful to know their weaknesses, and in the context of this conversation, he could probably get Will to tell him without arousing suspicion, but he honestly doesn't want to. It would needle at his conscience if he did. He hates that.
"You don't get to cop out of it," Will says, "and trust me, Dustin, you have plenty of other faults you could put on that shirt. There has to be something you really, really don't like about yourself. I know there's something you aren't a complete narcissist about."
"Not really, no." Nothing that would fit on a shirt, anyway. When Dustin thinks about the things he doesn't like about himself, they're things he's failed to do, not things that he is. 'Not Good Enough' is too vague, and too raw, not something he's going to just admit out loud. Not even to himself, let alone for the entire world to see. "I already own everything you don't like about me. And you need a better slogan if you're going to make me come up with one. I could help with that."
"I'm sure you could." Will lies back down, one arm under the pillow, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Dustin doesn't want to talk about this anymore. He doesn't want a heavy conversation about their deepest insecurities, and he doesn't want to be forced to admit things about himself that will make Will think even less of him than he already does. He closes his eyes, feeling suddenly weary.
"How about 'Unwilling To Reciprocate Blowjobs?'" he suggests, because damned if Will's going to make him actually be serious about this. "I'm not sure if your chest is broad enough to make it fit on the shirt, but it's definitely a more serious fault than your face-ass."
Will's face suggests that he's trying to keep from smiling, even if he doesn't laugh. "That's not fair. I reciprocate."
"No, you don't." Dustin smirks, turning his face into the pillow to hide his vague sense of relief. "There is no end to the filthy things I would do to you if you'd let me, and you're all 'I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine.'"
Even if Will's offended, he can't not laugh at that. "You're not getting off that easy, Dustin."
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Now what are you going to do about it?"
"Come on." Will snickers, and his smile is kind of infectious, even if Dustin suspects he really hasn't managed to escape the conversation successfully. "Okay, fine. How about 'Poor Man's Sue Sylvester,' for you?"
"Hey," Dustin protests. There's a part of him that wants to just accept that, just to satisfy Will and be done with all of this, but...that just hits a little too close to home, and he can't let it go. "I am not the poor man's anything."
He can feel Will's eyes on him, and it's not comforting to have him leaning so close now, no matter how warm he is. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?" he murmurs.
"Oh, fuck you." It isn't enough to have handed Schuester his weakness on a silver platter, apparently; he has to get defensive about it, too, just to add insult to injury. He clenches his jaw, restraining himself from saying anything else.
"I think you're overreacting," says Will, but he sounds uncertain now. "I was just kidding. And come on, you're not exactly the only person in the world who hates not being the best at things."
"That's not the point. The point is that we should have been done with this when I told you I didn't want to play this stupid game." Even if Will's right, even if 'Perfectionist' and 'Scared of Mediocrity' are cop-out slogans in their own right, he hates that he's let this bother him, and that in and of itself is what really bothers him. Nothing Will says is supposed to get to him like that. It isn't supposed to work that way. "You're not big on paying attention to what other people want, though, are you? It's always about you. You can fit 'Self-Absorbed Prick' on a shirt, right?"
"Yeah, if you can fit 'Bitter, Sadistic Asshole' on yours." Will's angry now, and the stab of regret that Dustin feels isn't enough to keep him from laughing disdainfully.
"I would wear that shirt. Because I own that. Everyone knows that about me. I don't give a shit. You have the self-awareness of a sheet of cardboard. You think you're some kind of selfless saint because you're just all about giving back to the community and shit, and you just care about your kids so much. And you justify everything you do by telling yourself it's 'educational,' when really, it's just you doing whatever the fuck you feel like at the moment and dragging everyone else around you into it because you want an audience."
"And that makes you better than me, Dustin?" Will gets right up into his face, and if this were any other argument, Dustin would be shutting him up with a kiss, but that's not going to happen now. "You make children cry because you're jealous of them, and that makes you feel like a really big guy, but I'm the prick here? Owning it doesn't make it okay."
"We're not talking about me, Schuester. We're talking about you." He never agreed to talk about himself. It isn't fair.
"You don't get to tell me what to talk about," Will grinds out. "That's how you work, though, right? You can dish it out, but you can't take it? You can abuse everyone else all you want, but you're off-limits."
"That's bullshit," he snarls, but he knows it's not. Not exactly. He'll let people rip into him all they want as long as they stick to topics he doesn't care about, as long as he's prepared, but he doesn't let people blindside him. He feels like he's slipping and scrambling for footing here, and he doesn't know what to do.
"So why exactly are you doing this, then?" he demands, saying the first thing he can think of to deflect the attention off him and back onto Will. "Let me guess, you think you can turn me into a better person, and I'll discover the joys of teaching and learn to love my kids and stop working them so hard, which will give your team a better shot at Nationals, but I won't care because I'll have learned that there are more important things than winning. I'm your project. Right?"
"Quite frankly, Dustin, I wouldn't expend that much effort on you. I don't care that much."
Dustin can handle everything else they've said to each other, but that feels like a backhand across the face, and it shows. He doesn't have a rebuttal to that, and the only thing that mitigates the pain in his chest is the way Will looks like he instantly regrets the words. They stare at each other, realizing too well that they've both gone too far.
"You know what?" Dustin says. "I think you've overstayed your welcome in my apartment, Schuester."
"I didn't-"
"Out. Don't let the door hit you in the ass." There isn't a single crack in his steely-eyed sneer, though he's out of practice enough that it takes effort to put it on now.
"Listen to me," Will snaps, standing his ground and doing absolutely nothing to disprove the accusation that he doesn't care what anyone else wants. "I didn't mean that, all right? I was pissed. I said something I shouldn't have, because I wanted to provoke you. It isn't true."
Dustin wants to believe him, but he honestly doesn't know why he should. It's safer not to. "You don't have to care," he says, because what the hell, why not twist the knife himself, too. "I mean, I don't. You're just a professional nemesis who happens to look good naked."
It is to Will Schuester's eternal credit that he doesn't bring up the shower incident, or the kiss that had followed, or any of the other things Dustin's done in the past couple weeks that completely prove that statement false. Maybe he hadn't taken any note of them. Maybe they're just all in Dustin's head, and Will's completely oblivious to any uncharacteristic tenderness that might be going on. Or maybe he's just being a decent guy and he doesn't want to mock Dustin for having actual feelings.
"You're not a project," Will says, with infuriatingly reassuring gentleness. It's probably the best thing he could have said, even if that's really not saying much, because it's kind of completely beside the point. Dustin sighs, trying to decide whether this conversation is worth continuing.
"Then why are you doing this?" he says finally. "I mean, beyond the fact that I'm gorgeous and fantastic in bed. That never holds anyone's interest for this long."
Will looks like he might have had some kind of canned answer prepared for that. Instead he pauses, and really thinks about it, and Dustin hates himself a little for the way the anticipation makes his heart pound a little faster, not least because they're still pressed close enough together that Will can probably feel it.
"I don't know," he says. "Somewhere along the line, I started actually enjoying your company."
Dustin snorts, and it feels more like actual, helpless laughter than his usual sneering little huff. "You're such a sap, Schuester."
The thing is, he doesn't even know whether he means that sarcastically or not. This is, after all, the guy who practically bursts into tears in public when he thinks about his students growing up. For Will, a statement like that is really kind of damning with faint praise. But for the two of them, just given how they operate, it's...a little bit touching, maybe. Dustin has to admit he probably doesn't deserve any better.
"I always liked talking to you," he admits. "I mean, I usually only bothered when I was trying to mess with you, but I was always glad to have a reason to talk to you."
Will grins. "Aw, Dustin, did you have a crush on me? That's so cute."
"Fuck you," Dustin mutters, but he means it with affection this time, and he punctuates it with a kiss, cradling the back of Will's head and pulling him close. Will's already pressed warmly against his side, and they fit nicely together, really nicely, when they finally separate and Will rests his head on Dustin's pillow and drapes an arm across his chest. If he moved over a little more, he'd be able to put his head on Dustin's shoulder, but that would be a bit much to ask right now, and this is more than enough for Dustin. He never does this anyway; he's not a cuddler, but this is...good. Weird, unexpected and good. He runs his fingers through Will's hair, and after a moment, decides to keep them there, sifting gently through the stiff curls.
"If I had one of those shirts," he murmurs, when they're both almost on the verge of drifting off, "it would say 'Nothing Special.'"
For a little while, Will doesn't say anything. His arm tightens gently around Dustin. "That's not true."
"What would you know?" Dustin exhales slowly and closes his eyes. "Anyway. You asked."
Will traces his fingers idly back and forth across Dustin's chest for a while, apparently lost in thought. "I guess if I was being honest with mine," he says, "it would probably say something like 'Careless.'" He laughs a little, unusually self-deprecating. "Or I guess I could go with 'Manwhore,' but I couldn't wear it in front of the kids."
"I'm not disputing that one." He still thinks there are better things Will could put on that shirt. He thinks 'Self-Centered' would be a perfect one, or 'Sappy Twit,' if he's going to be really uncharitable, but he won't say any of that out loud. He gets the feeling Will doesn't do much analyzing of his own issues. Dustin's not much for it either, but at least he's aware of the particular ways in which he can be a magnificent asshole, because he's usually doing it on purpose.
"I didn't mean to hurt you when I brought up the exercise," Will murmurs, sounding half-asleep. "I just wanted to get to know you better."
That would never have occurred to Dustin, and he blinks up at the ceiling, honestly surprised. It's...flattering, actually. Kind of endearing. And, when he thinks about it, unnecessary. "You already know me."
"Do I?" Will looks curiously up at him.
"Better than most people." That speaks more to Dustin's inability to make anyone want to know him than anything else, but it's true nonetheless. "I think it's mutual." He's not presuming to say he knows Will better than most people do, but he knows Will at least as well as Will knows him, and that's something.
Will shifts a little closer, eyes drifting shut again. "I think you're right."
"I'm always right." Dustin lets out a breath of quiet laughter and lets himself fall asleep, too.