He'd put a lot of thought into this, not necessarily the logistics but the fact that it was happening at all. They had sex a lot, but it felt different because it was happening on Guy's birthday. They walked home hand in hand and, almost at the threshold, he paused, pressing Guy firmly back against a tree and bent his head to kiss him.

"Happy birthday," he murmured.

Some things never changed - he was still a teacher, still buried in history, and he still felt like he was drowning in marking. He sighs, reaching for the drink that's at his elbow as he finishes one essay and starts another. It looks like he's on the verge of a long night if he wants to get all of this done.

The club wasn't exactly Irwin's scene, the thumping music and the mass of sweaty bodies, but he was happy to be there with Guy, specially when he broke the kiss, suddenly very aware of his cock, his hips pressed forward against Guy's. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, coat abandoned at the cloak-room. He pushed his fingers into Guy's hair and pulls; an idea was forming.

"We should go back to the hotel," he said. They'd rented a room earlier, if only for the novelty. He leaned in and kissed Guy again, hungrily. "We should go right now."

Life had certainly taken an unexpected turn, between what was happening with Guy (on a more or less regular basis) and what had happened with Dakin (but only once). It was, however, Dakin that he found himself thinking about more and more - he put that much, at least, down to the fact that it had only happened once, and briefly.

It was intensely distracting.

After a day spent planning lessons for when school started, it wasn't particularly surprising to find himself in a bar. The attractive red-head served him a drink and he sat, idly flipping through a paperback.

It wasn't an entirely unpleasant way to spend an evening.

Life moved on apace. He was getting to know the island, getting to know the school. Forming habits. Building routines. Like turning up at Guy's office door at a certain time of night, looking for a smoke.

"Not busy, are you?" he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He ignored the slight heat in his belly, the sense memory of still fading bruises. He tilted his head. "I'd hate to be interrupting."

Or, perhaps, somewhere, they did go for that drink.

There was a lot that Irwin was still trying to adjust to. The weather, for a start. The lack of palpable history is disconcerting. He's refusing to address the dinosaurs.
And then there's Dakin. Of course, there's Dakin. Inevitably. Irwin might have been the only one who was actually surprised.

They skirted around it for a few weeks but, in the end, it just felt inevitable. That he'd find himself waiting for Dakin with a drink in front of him.
It was just a drink. And everything would be fine.