They don't see each other too much as Sectionals approach. It's to be expected, really. Neither of them has much spare time. This is about the time of year when Dustin takes to sleeping on his office couch rather than going home, in what is apparently a proud tradition of past Vocal Adrenaline coaches who didn't last more than five years before getting burned out and quitting as shells of their former selves. This would be foreboding, but Dustin's not like any of those losers. He can do this. He has fantastic self-discipline, at least when it comes to everything that doesn't involve Will. He can't keep up his single-minded focus on rehearsing when he finds himself fucking daydreaming about Will, zoning out and thinking about him when he should be watching his kids like a hawk to catch their mistakes.
He hadn't planned on getting more than a few hours of sleep; he's been revising the song order one last time and jotting down choreography notes and putting finishing touches on everything. None of this is stuff he could be doing with his arch-rival in the room, but he wishes Will were there anyway. They haven't seen each other in three weeks, not completely for lack of trying.
At quarter past midnight, he's starting to flag, but not until his phone rings does he consider taking a break. There are only two people who would be calling him at this hour, and thankfully, it proves to be Will and not Sue Sylvester. "Hey," he says, making himself comfortable on the sofa.
"I knew you'd still be up." Will sounds as tired as Dustin is; he's probably working late too. Dustin smirks, because he can't not get a kick out of the way Will's starting to turn into him, even if it means more of a challenge for Vocal Adrenaline.
"Yeah," he says, "it's one of those 'sleep in my office and shower in the theater dressing rooms' nights." He'd been kind of shocked when he first found out just how luxurious the Carmel theater facilities were, but it seems normal enough now that he's been here a while.
"Wait, what?" He can almost hear Will making that adorably confused face on the other end of the line. "You're still at work? It's almost half past midnight, Dustin."
"Half past midnight on the day of a competition," Dustin points out. "I can't be lying down on the job when I have all this last-minute work to do. Aren't you doing the same thing? Why are you still awake?"
"I'm still awake because I couldn't sleep. I'm not still at school, because that would be crazy." Thankfully, Will doesn't elaborate further, seeming to sense that this is one of the things they should agree to disagree on. "I just...wanted to talk to you, that's all. You've been so busy I haven't seen you lately."
He tries to ignore the pleasant, spreading warmth in his chest. "You miss me?" he teases.
"You want me to miss you?" Will counters, but it sounds like he's smiling, and it's always contagious when he does. "You can make some time after tomorrow, can't you? You don't have to dive right into prep for Regionals. You can come over, I'll make pizza, we can catch up on things..."
"There's not that much to catch up on," says Dustin. "You make it sound like I've been avoiding you for months."
"Is that a yes?"
"Sure, fine, why the hell not." That smile is still stubbornly refusing to leave his face. There's a moment of silence on the line, which he feels the need to break.
"I'm glad you called," he says. "Being here all alone at night kind of drives me crazy. It's just so freaking quiet, and I keep feeling like there might be a serial killer lurking around the corner or something."
"Then why are you there?" Will sounds concerned, and Dustin doesn't know how to feel about that. "You know, I worry about you sometimes. This job can't be good for your health."
"And your concern is appreciated. Really, it is." It would be if he actually believed it, anyway, but he'll pretend he does. "I'm fine, okay? And now I have tomorrow night to look forward to. It's all good." It is all good. The prospect of seeing Will again, flush with victory after a long day, free to just relax with him and enjoy the success of Sectionals, is enough to make him feel more cheerful than he has in a long time.
Sectionals are a fucking disaster.
It's not that they don't win; of course they win. Even Vocal Adrenaline's worst performance is better than anything their hack competition could manage on a good day. But it's close. It's so close that it's nearly a tie, because Sunshine visibly stumbles over the lyrics in her solo and it takes her a heart-stopping moment to recover, and Dustin can see the judges nodding grimly and scribbling notes, and all he can think for one interminable moment is oh, jesus, my career is over.Sunshine recovers, and redoubles her efforts, and the rest of the number goes off without a hitch, but the damage is done.
He stops her from getting on the bus, drags her aside, demands to know what the hell that was. Will's broken him of the habit of saying 'fuck' and 'shit' in front of his kids, but he's on the verge of a relapse. She'd known she wasn't going to get off easy, but she's tearing up anyway, wiping her eyes on her sleeve to no avail.
"Is this ever going to happen again?" he hisses.
"No! No, never again, I swear-"
"Damn right it's not. Because we are going to go over and over and over it until you can do it without costing us a title. You do not leave the auditorium until you can literally sing your Regionals piece in your sleep, and I will sedate you to make you prove that. Do I make myself clear?"
She nods, terrified, but she can't quite stop herself from babbling. "Just-please, Coach, not tonight. It's my birthday."
She looks like she regrets the words even as she's saying them, and with good reason, because at any other time, Dustin would have brushed that off and kept her rehearsing all night whether it was her damn birthday or not. Tonight, though, he'll listen to her. Even if he didn't have plans of his own, he has the sudden uncomfortable realization that he'd have a hard time looking Will in the eye if he didn't let the poor kid go home. He can almost hear Will's outraged voice in his mind, demanding to know what's wrong with him.
"Not tonight," he concedes, and she sniffles gratefully. "Get on the bus."
By the time he knocks on Will's door, he's in a miserable foul mood, and he just wants to forget Vocal Adrenaline even exists. As soon as he enters the room, though, he's swept into a fierce, hot kiss, and Will lets him go with a jubilant slap on the shoulder. "Sectionals were amazing," he gushes. "I can't even tell you how incredible it was. I've never seen my kids perform like that. It was just exhilarating."
Dustin's stomach sinks. "That's great," he says dully. "Congrats." There's no way he can feign excitement about that, but then, he wouldn't have done that even if the performance had gone perfectly, and he's not sure why Will would expect him to.
Will pulls away, frowning. "Something wrong?" he asks, and Dustin is trying really, really hard not to be irritated by the cluelessness that he usually finds slightly endearing, but it's a losing battle. He wants to lash out and snap about how much he loves hearing about his archrivals' success, but he keeps that in check, and instead, he finds himself being honest when it's probably a bad idea.
"Yeah, something's wrong. Sectionals were horrible, that's what's wrong. The whole thing was a fucking travesty." He sighs. "Let's just relax and talk about other stuff, okay? We can watch a movie or something. It'll be nice."
Of course Will's not going to let it go that easily. He narrows his eyes. "What happened? Did you lose?"
"What? Of course we didn't lose. Who do you think we are?" He pushes past Will, annoyed now, and tosses his coat onto a chair.
"Then I don't get it. What's the problem?" Will folds his arms.
"The problem is that we sucked," Dustin snaps. "The problem is that it wasn't fucking good enough."
"How do you think your competition felt, then?" Will asks, arching an infuriating eyebrow. "Losing to a performance that sucked?"
"I don't give a shit how they felt," he says. "Their coaches are like you. They're all English teachers and math teachers, and they weren't hired for the sole purpose of bringing in trophies. I was. We've been over this."
They have, which is probably the only reason why Will seems inclined to let it go. He rubs his eyes and sighs. "This is why I worry about you," he says.
He keeps saying that, but it never quite registers, because Dustin can't really comprehend it. He can believe that Will likes him, but he just can't quite picture Will actually worrying about him. Dustin's never really understood that. He's never worried about anyone before in his life. He's not sure how it's supposed to feel, or what it really entails. He definitely knows better than to actually say this out loud, though, lest he have to deal with Will calling him a sociopath all night.
"Do you really?" he asks.
Will's look is almost pitying. "Yeah," he says. "I do." He squeezes Dustin's shoulder. "Come on. The pizza's getting cold."
He's not even remotely paying attention to anything Will says as they sprawl together on the couch with drinks later, though he interjects with vague noises of agreement at what seem like appropriate times. As distant as his mind is, though, he snaps instantly back to awareness when Will stops talking. "What?"
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying."
"I'm sort of listening," he protests. Will rolls his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch.
"I'll try not to distract you from your thoughts," he says. He seems content enough to just sit quietly, not terribly annoyed, but five seconds of that and it's already making Dustin antsy. He hates silence. There's no such thing as comfortable silence.
"You're not distracting me. I'm listening, I promise. Keep going."
"Mmm, no, it's fine." Will leans sideways until their heads rest together, and falls quiet again. Dustin tries to deal with it, because he should be able to handle a few minutes of nice, affectionate, slightly passive-aggressive silence, but it's not going to happen.
"Really, can we not? It's just creeping me out."
"How is it creeping you out?" Will turns to look at him, frowning. "This is the second time you've told me it's creepy when I don't talk. I don't get it."
"It's not you. I just have a thing, okay?" Dustin shakes his head. "I just don't like long silences. They make my skin crawl. I'm weird about it."
"That's an interesting phobia," Will says thoughtfully.
"It's not a phobia," he says, annoyed. He doesn't have phobias. "It's more of a...pet peeve."
Will nods, and doesn't respond. There isn't a sound in the room aside from the distant dripping of the kitchen sink.
"What are you doing?" Dustin demands, after a neverending moment. Will holds a finger up to his lips and says nothing. Maybe outrage isn't the proper response to that, but then, Dustin doesn't know what is the proper response to someone taking your just-explained almost-phobia and deliberately prodding at it, so outrage it is. "No. Stop it. We are not doing this." There's still no response, so he'll just have to take it upon himself to fill the silence, then. "What, did I do something to piss you off? Is this what I get for not listening to you earlier? Because I wasn't trying to offend you, I was just tired and you were droning about your kids and you know I always kind of zone out when you do that. Out of professional courtesy, I mean, not because it bores the shit out of me or anything..."
"Do you hear yourself?" Will raises an eyebrow at him. "You're babbling. I've never heard you do that before. You just couldn't stand the quiet."
"I just told you that, you idiot. You didn't have to test it. You can take me at my word sometimes." He is not in the mood for any of Will's educational games right now.
"I was trying to help," says Will. "I'm good at helping people through this stuff, you know, getting over phobias-"
"It's not-" Dustin breaks off, rubbing his eyes. He's probably just overreacting. When he thinks about it, the sentiment is really kind of nice, if misguided. "Look, fine, that's...sort of sweet of you. But seriously, it really does not affect my life in any significant way. I just need the radio on so that I can get to sleep, and I'm good."
Will looks baffled. "What are you talking about? You've never done that."
"Not around you," Dustin says, as if it should be obvious, because it really should. "I don't need it when you're there."
"Really?" Will seems touched by that, and it's surprisingly endearing. "What, there's just something about me that makes it not that bad?"
"Yeah." Dustin can't help but smirk. "You snore."
The affronted look on Will's face makes Dustin want to kiss him, so he does, before Will can protest. "I do not snore," Will says, when they pause to breathe, but his hand is already sliding through Dustin's hair and he doesn't seem inclined to argue that any further.
"I beg to differ." He doesn't really, because that would distract him from this, leaning back into the corner of the couch until Will is halfway in his lap, sucking tenderly at his lower lip. This is the kind of slow, quiet sweetness he can appreciate, even when there's no other sound in the room besides their unsteady breathing and the sound of kissing. Three weeks isn't even that long, in the scheme of things, and he should not have missed this to anywhere near this extent.
"It's not, like, really egregious snoring," he murmurs, nuzzling into Will's neck and breathing him in as Will unbuttons his shirt and runs his hands over Dustin's chest. "Just enough to be reassuring, that's all."
"I still don't believe you." Will grins into the kiss, sliding off the couch and pulling Dustin with him.
It takes them an unusually long time to get each others' clothes off, because neither of them wants to pull away, and Dustin can't stop touching him, just running hands over skin. He's used to Will being pushy and impatient and insistent, and he likes that. He's accustomed to wanting Will to be even rougher and fuck him even harder, but right now Will's careful and deliberate, licking without biting, nothing that would leave bruises, and Dustin doesn't want him to stop. It's almost maddening, nothing but the slow friction of his cock against Will's stomach as Will moves, and he doesn't know whether he wants to touch himself or just hold Will tighter and move against him. He doesn't know what to make of the gentleness, because it just...isn't like them. Or maybe it's just that it isn't like him, but if it's how Will feels like doing things, he's okay with that. Dustin's spent his entire adult life mocking people who use the term 'making love,' and he's certainly not going to apply it to anything he does, but maybe this is what it's like. 'Lovemaking' seems like a phrase Will would use without irony, because he's kind of embarrassing that way, and he draws in a sharp ragged breath and thrusts up against Will, fingers digging into him, because he wants to just forget that that word popped into his head at all.
It's good this way, god, it does feel good, gradual-building tension like hard work paying off, a wave of pleasure that knocks the breath out of him and makes his entire body tighten, and for once, Will's the one breathing profanity in his ear. It's so fucking hot it makes him wrap himself around Will's body and gasp between clenched teeth. "Say that again," he pants, sucking at Will's neck, and Will obliges, whispering 'fuck' in a way that goes straight to Dustin's cock. He can feel how close Will is, and he encourages it, gripping tighter onto him, rocking faster, and fuck, he wouldn't have thought he could come just from this, but there's the heat and the friction and the sound of Will's breathless voice in his ear, and he can't even tell which one of them comes first, both of them shuddering together, hands sliding on each others' sweat-slick skin.
The silence that follows afterwards is all right, somehow. It doesn't make him feel the urgent need to break it with words; he can close his eyes and just listen to Will trying to catch his breath, and it's okay. He could learn to appreciate this.
"Listen," Will says after a little while, draping an arm sleepily across Dustin's chest. "Don't stress about Sectionals. You won. It's fine. Just let it go."
"I'm not stressing about Sectionals," Dustin tells him. "I'm stressing about Regionals now. I've moved on."
"Oh, well, in that case." Will rolls his eyes, but he seems to have finally broken himself of the habit of starting arguments after sex, and he leaves it at that. "So you don't mind it being quiet in here?" he murmurs. "You don't want me to turn on some music or something?"
"Nah." Dustin lazily plays with Will's hair, appreciating the consideration. "I'm okay."
"Good," says Will, pulling the blankets around himself. "Because I don't snore."
Dustin isn't surprised to be summoned to speak with his boss the next day. He'd known he was going to have to face the music, evidently sooner rather than later. He's carefully prepared a series of arguments for why Sectionals was a fluke and why it is absolutely never going to happen again, and all he can do is hope it'll be enough.
"Close the door, Goolsby."
Principal Snitterman has always been a little too hands-on when it comes to the music and theater department of his school. It's understandable, Dustin supposes-the program is Carmel's bread and butter, in the way athletics are for most other schools. Vocal Adrenaline secures more and better alumni donations than anything else, and with that in mind, he doesn't blame Snitterman for breathing down the back of his neck all the time.
"You know," Snitterman says, "you've been here a year and a half now, and you haven't done a single thing that's impressed me."
You insufferable asshole. I'm doing the best I can."I'm sorry to hear that," Dustin says, as subserviently as he can manage. "I promise you, though, what happened yesterday was-"
"You're completely useless as a choreographer. My dog could choreograph better routines in her sleep." Snitterman's eyes bore into him. "The only reason we let you keep trying is because Dakota Stanley's fled the country and we haven't been able to track him down. I saw that performance at Sectionals, Goolsby, and you are running out of chances to prove to me that you aren't a talentless hack."
It takes every ounce of composure Dustin possesses to stand there and take that without lashing out to defend himself, but his neutral expression never wavers. He's aware of his weaknesses as a director; he knows choreography isn't his strong suit, exactly, and that he really should have someone to do it for him, but that doesn't make this conversation any less humiliating or infuriating. He'd thought this was going to be about the debacle with Sunshine and the forgotten lyrics, not his failures in other areas. He doesn't know which he should try to focus the conversation on in order to better his chances of getting out of his room with his job intact. In the end, he decides that his best bet is to mostly keep his mouth shut. "I'm planning to pull out all the stops for Regionals, sir. I'll enlist help for the choreography. You won't be disappointed."
"Don't do that," Snitterman scoffs. "Are you an idiot? If you pull out all the stops for Regionals, you'll have nothing left for Nationals. Don't strain yourself. You can't handle it."
Then why don't you run the glee club yourself, you pencil-dicked cretin? I know what I'm doing. "It was a figure of speech. I just meant-"
"Save it." Snitterman returns to his paperwork, dismissing Dustin without even bothering to say so. "You need to tone down the incompetence, Goolsby. I will be watching you. Are we communicating here?"
"Loud and clear, sir." Dustin grits his teeth and leaves, managing not to slam the door behind him.
Will doesn't know when exactly he started getting so concerned about Dustin's well-being. As caring a person as he likes to think he is, he doesn't usually have a lot of sympathy for grown adults who bring their problems on themselves, especially when those problems involve competing with him. He's never found himself wondering if Sue is doing okay now that the Cheerios have fallen from grace, or thinking that maybe he should cut Sandy Ryerson a break because unemployment is tough. Six months ago, he wouldn't have felt anything but a healthy sense of schadenfreude at the thought of Dustin having problems at work, because he didn't have to take a job at the most ridiculously unreasonable, ethically-questionable school in Ohio. He doesn't have to work his kids so hard that they're constantly on the verge of mutiny, and yet Will's instinct towards him is becoming increasingly protective.
He thinks that's what it is, anyway. He'd never say it out loud, because god knows, there's nothing Dustin would hate more. It's not that he doesn't think Dustin can take care of himself, but sometimes he wonders if Dustin really wants to. He doesn't know how much of Vocal Adrenaline's grueling rehearsal schedule is Dustin's decision and how much of it is dictated by the Carmel administration, but he knows there's no reason for Dustin to have to sleep in his office when he could probably work just as easily from home, when he knows how much Dustin hates it. He has to wonder if it's some kind of masochism, if Dustin's trying to punish himself for something. He truly can't think of any other explanation for Dustin's ridiculous brand of workaholism, but he can imagine exactly what Dustin would have to say about Will's trying to come up with an explanation at all. Something along the lines of 'Could you stop trying to psychoanalyze me for two seconds? Sometimes a cigar is just a fucking cigar.'
He's always every bit as adamant about that as Emma was that she just really liked cleaning things, so determined to convince Will that he doesn't have issues, or that if he does, that they're completely under control and he likes it that way. He's always trying to deflect the conversation back onto Will, insisting that Will could stand to do a lot more analysis of his own flaws and less of everyone else's. Maybe he has a point, but he's right, Will doesn't want to think about any of that.
Dustin thinks Will's trying to fix him somehow, or reform him, or make him a different person, and maybe at some point, Will had been. If Will ever had to justify this relationship to anyone at McKinley, he might even frame it in those terms and just hope Dustin never found out about it, but it's not what this is about anymore. He doesn't know how to explain to Dustin that his insistence on debating moral issues and trying to figure out what makes him tick isn't because he wants to change him, exactly, it's just that he doesn't know how Dustin can possibly be happy with his life, and he wants to help. He wants Dustin to be happy. He isn't quite sure when it became a priority.
How he would justify this to his kids or his coworkers is a bit of a moot point, at any rate, because he doesn't ever plan on having to do that. He and Dustin have pretty much stopped justifying it to themselves. It's another of their unspoken agreements, because they're well beyond Sectionals now, and neither of them has so much as mentioned their agreement, or talked about 'reevaluating' anything. It's just taken as a given that they're going to keep on doing this, because they want to, because it isn't causing problems. They're in uncharted waters now, just kind of playing things by ear, but the one thing they're still meticulously careful about is not getting caught. They don't mention each other at work. They don't let themselves be seen together anywhere in Lima or near Carmel. When they go out, they rarely frequent the same place twice, with the exception of that little karaoke bar where they'd made out in the parking lot.
Even when they're too busy to see each other, which is increasingly frequently, it's good to just talk to him. Will calls him when he's stressed-out and bored to complain about Sue and Figgins, make fun of Sandy, talk trash about the other glee clubs in the area and bitch about the problem kids in his Spanish class. Sure, he can always talk to Shannon and Emma about stuff like that, and it's probably healthier when he does, but sometimes he just wants to let loose and be really mean-spirited and not have to worry about judgment, and Dustin is fantastic for that. Dustin gets it. He's kind of like the devil on Will's shoulder sometimes, but it's liberating, and Will knows Dustin relishes it. He shouldn't enjoy hearing Dustin talk shit about his kids in return, because for the most part, it isn't their fault that Vocal Adrenaline is the show choir equivalent of the evil dojo from The Karate Kid, but some of the little bastards who'd egged Rachel are still around, and Dustin has a hilarious way of putting things when he complains about them.
He has a wicked laugh, too, when he's truly amused about something, surprisingly loud and genuine even if it still sounds a little bit evil, and Will has to wonder how many other people get to hear it. Dustin doesn't usually let people make him laugh, unless it's that too-familiar little snort of disdain when he's mocking someone. Will tells himself he's not the jealous type, but he knows, deep down, that he's prone to possessiveness and protectiveness in nearly equal measure.
The protectiveness comes out in full force the next time he sees Dustin, who's sporting a split lip and a rather impressive bruise on his cheek. "What the hell happened?" Will demands, immediately reaching out to examine the injuries, even if they're standing right outside his house, even if a neighbor could see.
"One of my kids' dads hit me because I wouldn't give his precious baby girl a solo." Dustin shrugs, sounding bizarrely undisturbed by this. "Carmel parents are batshit."
"Are you serious?" Will's fingers are still tracing that bruise, testing its severity, and Dustin seems more surprised by the concern than anything. Will's just furious at the thought of anyone hurting him. Sure, Dustin's the kind of guy a lot of people want to punch, but that doesn't make it acceptable. "What happened to him?"
"What do you mean?" Dustin frowns, as much as he can without aggravating his wounds. "I had security haul his ass out of the auditorium and everything was fine. Shit happens." He finally flinches away with a hiss of pain when Will accidentally prods at a particularly tender spot, and Will shoves his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to keep touching him.
"Are you going to press charges?" he asks, eyes narrowing. Dustin looks at him as if he's grown an extra head.
"For this? This isn't worth it. The only reason I'm pissed is because it's not very pretty to look at, and you're always saying I'm kind of a vain narcissist that way."
Will opens the door and shoos him inside, because this is not a discussion to be having out on the front steps when it's pitch-dark and freezing outside. "He assaulted you. That's not okay."
"Yeah, maybe not, but seriously, Will, I don't care." He pulls Will into a kiss, and it's true, he really doesn't seem terribly fazed by the bruises. He's downright cheerful.
Will relents and leans against him, curling his fingers into Dustin's hair. He traces his tongue along Dustin's lower lip, probing gently at the split in it, and he's not sure whether the faint whimper it provokes is one of pain or pleasure or a little of both.
"It's really cute when you fuss over things," Dustin murmurs against his lips.
Will keeps stroking at his hair. Fussing is all well and good, but it still doesn't satisfy his urge to fix things, and now he's going to be wondering what kind of other crazy stunts Carmel parents are likely to pull. "I still wish I could do a little more to help," he says.
"You can." Dustin smirks wickedly, hands sliding down Will's sides to pull him closer. "I hear orgasms are great for pain relief."
Will can't help but grin. His hands trail down Dustin's chest, teasingly unbuttoning his shirt. "That," he says, "I can do."
There is no good reason for him to be getting called to Snitterman's office. There is never a good reason for it. His stomach is leaden with dread as he opens the door, because he can guess what this conversation is going to be about, and how it's going to go.
For a man literally half Dustin's size, Snitterman has silent intimidation down to an art form, when he chooses to deploy it. The room is deathly still, and Dustin can feel a trickle of sweat creeping down his back as the quiet makes his insides squirm.
"What did I tell you about the choreography, Goolsby?" Snitterman folds his hands atop his desk, with deceptively calm menace. "I told you to find someone who wasn't worthless at it, and let them do it for you, because you can't be trusted to choreograph your way out of a goddamn paper bag. Did you do what I told you?"
There's no amount of careful wording that will get him out of trouble here, because the simple fact of the matter is that no, he hasn't found a more talented choreographer. He can't do everything himself, for god's sake. He doesn't have time to be doing that shit. "No, sir."
"No." Snitterman drums his fingers on his desk. "And you've been lazy with the intel-gathering, too, haven't you."
Dustin keeps his mouth shut. He has been lax about that. He's got profiles on the clubs he's competing with for Regionals, strengths and weaknesses and histories and ways they might try to pander to the judges, but they're sketchy, and he hasn't done anything with them. There's no point in having intel when one doesn't use it, and he could kick himself for that now, but it's too late.
"Tell me about New Directions, Goolsby."
Dustin's head snaps up, and he curses himself for reacting so disproportionately, but his heart jolts with the sudden terror that Snitterman knows something. He swallows, schooling his expression back into neutrality. "We're not competing with them at Regionals, sir. We won't have to be concerned with them until later."
"Because you're assuming they'll be at Nationals." Snitterman's lip curls. "Why, exactly, are you assuming that?"
"Because they managed to come in twelfth last year with virtually no rehearsal or preparation," Dustin says fatalistically, "and they're working harder this time."
"And you are doing nothing about that." Snitterman slams his hand down on the desk, and Dustin flinches. "You aren't gathering inside information. You aren't working to demoralize them. You aren't utilizing Sue Sylvester as a resource. You are sitting back and you are letting them win, and I want to know why!"
"You're mistaken, sir. That isn't what I'm doing at all." He's just free-bullshitting off the top of his head right now, because he has no idea how the hell he's going to talk his way out of this. "The thing about New Directions is that they've tightened their defenses against infiltration and spying. They dedicate a lot of energy towards thwarting sabotage, which is why I've been trying to go for Schuester directly, rather than aiming for the soloists, like we've done in the past-"
"Good." Snitterman nods approvingly, and for one brief minute Dustin lets himself hope he might be off the hook. "I want you to steal their set list."
His stomach sinks so fast it feels like whiplash. "I'm sorry?"
"You're going to get your hands on that set list and dissect every detail of it, so that we can determine exactly how to sabotage their numbers at Regionals. You are going to knock them out of competition before they ever get close to us, because quite frankly, Goolsby, you may have beaten them last year, but you're inept enough that it could have been a fluke."
Surely, Dustin thinks, there has to be a way out of this. "I understand, sir, but overt sabotage sounds like a good way to get ourselves disqualified. I really prefer to go the emotional-manipulation route. It's less prone to backfiring, less traceable and there's nothing about it in the rules."
"This is Carmel, son. If you can't cheat without getting caught, you never belonged here in the first place." Snitterman personally gets up to direct him out of the office this time, holding the door open for him. "If this year is a repeat of last year's second-place fiasco, we'll be searching for a new director this summer. I think we're done here."
Yeah, thinks Dustin, feeling nauseous. I am done here.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to get hold of Will's set list. He could do it without Will ever being any the wiser about it, and maybe he could find some way to...sabotage the sabotage; maybe he can just do it to buy himself some time and then figure out where to go from there.
Maybe nobody will ever know it was him if he does get New Directions eliminated from the competition at Regionals, and then he won't have to worry about competing with Will. He won't have to agonize over what Nationals is going to do to their relationship. It could be good for them, if only he could be sure Will would never find out.
But he can't be sure of that. And if he did it, it would bother him. It would needle at him, and he's so unaccustomed to that that he doesn't know how he would handle it.
He thinks about refusing Snitterman, and he thinks about finding another dingy little community theater to direct in while he gives cheap piano lessons to sulky children to support himself on the side. He thinks about packing his things and heading back to Philadelphia to take another dead-end job as a music teacher to rich brats who don't give a shit, and he knows he can't be so naive as to think that love is going to solve any of his problems here. Love doesn't conquer shit.
He stays over at Will's place that Saturday. At this point in the competition season, they're used to each other being preoccupied. Will doesn't comment on it, just reaches over to the nightstand and turns on the radio to fill the silence. Dustin's grateful, because it gives him time to think of just how the hell to say this.
"Let me ask you something," he says finally, "and let me just preface it by saying that I have never said these words before in my life, because pretty much nobody actually wants to hear them."
"That doesn't sound reassuring." Will raises his head from Dustin's shoulder, pulls back to look at him. "What is it? Is everything okay?"
Dustin sighs, not making eye contact. "Where is this relationship going?"
He's glad for the fact that he can't see the look on Will's face as Will moves aside, folding his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. "I'm...not really sure what you mean," Will says.
"What do you mean, you're not sure? It's a straightforward question, Will." He can't afford for Will to be stupid and wishy-washy about this. Not now. "I just want to know how long this is going to go on," he says. "I want to know if it's going to get any more serious than this."
"Serious how?" Will presses. "Like...telling people? Moving in together? What are you saying?"
"Sure. Yeah. That kind of serious." If Will's bringing that up, Dustin will go with it. "I mean, we have a pretty good thing going on here, don't we?" he says. "It's not just a fling anymore. We both know that, right?"
"No, of course it's not..." Will doesn't hesitate to agree with that much, but he's holding back nonetheless. "I just...when did you want to start doing that? Telling people?"
"It's not about telling people. That was your idea; I just threw it in there. This is a 'where are we going to be six months from now' thing." He's starting to come to a realization, and he pauses. "No, forget that. I don't want to do this 'let's give it another trial period and see where we are' thing anymore. Do we have to act like we're renewing a contract? Can't we just have a normal relationship where we just assume we're going to stay together because we like each other? That's normal, right? People do that?"
"Yes, people do that, but-" Will cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as he considers his words. "I don't want to stop doing this. I care about you, Dustin; you know that. I just...I don't know how long-term you're talking here."
Dustin frowns. He doesn't quite understand the distinction. "I don't know," he says. "I mean, do we have to set a time limit on it? Why do we have to do that?"
"It doesn't have to be a short time limit. But I..." Will shakes his head. "I want a family someday, okay? I always envisioned...being married again, having kids, being able to give the best years of my life to those kids."
"So you're saying you just need to get me out of the way at some point in the next year or so, so you can settle down and have obsessively clean babies with the guidance counselor. I get it." Dustin's a little surprised by how calm his voice is right now. Will makes up for it by sounding slightly panicked.
"How did you know about-"
"Sue Sylvester." He turns to look at Will, finally, even if it stings. "Or hey, maybe you'll end up with Holly after all. Ask her if she's into three-ways and give me a call if she says yes. I'd be down with that."
"Stop it," says Will quietly. Dustin's about to tell him to shut up, but Will reaches up to caress his cheek, touching the near-faded bruise, and the gesture is affectionate enough to make him stop arguing. "I'm not trying to get rid of you, all right? I don't want to end this. I care about you. Seeing you is the highlight of my week." He leans in for a soft kiss, and Dustin lets him. "I want to enjoy this."
"While it lasts," Dustin says, finishing the sentence for him. Will sighs.
"While it lasts," he admits. "But I don't intend for it to stop lasting anytime soon."
Dustin reaches up to mirror Will's hand on his face, stroking his cheekbone, sliding a hand around to the back of his neck and kissing him sweetly, and that's the end of talking. Will's all too glad to end the conversation there, running his hands over Dustin's chest and melting against him as they lie there making out like they're teenagers again. They wind down, finally, and Dustin switches the radio off, because he can handle the silence for the time it'll take Will to fall asleep.
No, that's a lie, he can't, but maybe he feels the need to make himself suffer for this. He presses a light, tender kiss to Will's forehead and waits until he hears familiar, reassuring snoring, and then he waits a while longer, until Will's breathing has fully evened out.
He slides out of bed, pulling his underwear back on, and quietly fishes through his pants pocket for the flash drive he's brought with him. Will's computer is out in the living room, a battered old thing that barely works, but Dustin doesn't need to use it for very long. He only has to type in a few different permutations of 'newdirections' when prompted for the password before he finds the right one, and it makes his chest ache, because god, Will's stupidity is so endearing, and it always has been.
The set list is labeled as such, of course, and he rifles through a few other files and folders just to make sure the obvious-looking one isn't a decoy, but of course Will wouldn't even think of that. He saves it, covers his tracks, shuts the computer down, puts the drive back in his pocket, and slides back into bed with Will, wrapping his arm tight and secure around Will's waist.
He wants to enjoy this while it lasts.