3. Isaiah #2
Now though, he didn’t know what they were to each other, and if they were going to be something again, he’d have to tell him about the camming, which was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have with the often surprisingly uptight man who didn’t know the meaning of the word struggle.
Isaiah lugged his bag behind him to Holywell Manor, where he’d managed to get a room in the older accommodation.
For graduates, rooms were on a lottery system, and Isaiah had lucked out twice in a row.
His boyfriend, or well…whatever they were now, was living off campus with friends from rowing, having lost out on the lottery.
“Zay! You’re back!” Amara ran at him and pulled him into a hug that made him drop his bag.
“Of course I’m back.” He laughed, ruffling her short, dark hair. “I love this place more than life itself.”
Amara grinned, but her pale green eyes held a hint of wariness. “It’s just, I heard you were staying with Jake and Mal…and…”
“Hey, don’t worry about me, it’s all good now.”
“Really?”
Isaiah nodded. “I swear.”
It may not have been a full truth, but things were better than they had been.
The few weeks living with his uncle had been unusual, but they had lifted a weight from him.
If his parents didn’t want to be in his life, then fuck them; he didn’t need them anyway.
Even as he thought it, a lump lodged in his throat that he had to fight down to continue talking. 13
He picked his bag up off the ground. “Jake said they’re coming to the Bridge on Thursday. Can’t break tradition, even though Mal’s a proper grown-up now.”
Amara squealed. “Perfect! I can’t wait.” She picked Isaiah’s bag up off the ground, handing it over, then trailing him into his new room. “I assume you’ve got practice starting up again?”
“Of course.” Isaiah smiled.
“God, you love that shit, don’t you?”
“Running around in the mud with a bunch of fit, sweaty men?” He arched a brow. “Yeah, I suppose it’s alright.”
She rolled her eyes. “See you after, then? At dinner?”
“I’ve got some other stuff to take care of first, but I’ll be there later. Save me a seat.”
Amara cocked her head, but she didn’t ask. “Need help unpacking?”
“Nah, I’ve got it. Only brought the essentials.” The essentials were his books, some clothes, and his camming gear. Everything else had been left at Carl and Melinda’s. He’d pick more up on his next visit, but he really didn’t need Mar finding his stash of sex toys in an effort to help him unpack.
“Alright, catch you later, then, Zay,” she said, pulling him into another gentle hug. He breathed in her jasmine perfume. It was good to be home.
The mud caking his legs was starting to itch as Isaiah rushed back to his room.
It had been a good session, and under any other circumstances he’d have joined his teammates at the pub before heading back to clean up, like he’d done on every Thursday for the past four years, but he was already cutting it close.
He’d definitely need to change his schedule if he was going to juggle all the balls he had in the air this year.
He crossed campus quickly, passing the Radcliffe Camera and breaking into a jog over the cobbles.
In many ways, Oxford was still everything it had been to him when he’d arrived in his first year as a naive seventeen-year-old with a weird little obsession with Greek philosophy.
It was beautiful, elitist, and a bit absurd, but he loved it.
Loved his college and their ridiculous commitment to tradition.
Loved his course and the endless debate, how there was always more to understand, more knowledge to fill the craving inside of him.
He even loved some of his professors—in the fond sort of way you love an eccentric elderly aunt—their obsessive pursuit of knowledge above all else making them almost progressive in their own way.
He genuinely loved his cross-country team, even though they hadn’t won anything in a decade, and today, he really fucking loved that he had a private room with an en suite.
Isaiah sighed in relief as the warm water ran over him, mud sloshing down the drain while he scrubbed at his skin.
He felt like he could stay there forever, but he had to be online soon.
As he towelled himself off, the anticipation began to build.
He’d been doing this for nearly two months now, but somehow, every time, his nerves went as crazy as the very first show.
This would be his first one at Oxford, and somehow that felt different, heavier.
He pulled on his grey joggers, a plain black singlet, and the cloth mask he tied around his eyes, it was a little Zoro-esque, but he had to make at least a minimal attempt to disguise his identity; he didn’t want his tutors to catch wind of what he was doing, or worse, for anyone digging into his cousin for a story to come across this.
He wasn’t ashamed, and he wasn’t breaking any actual rules, but he knew well enough how the world worked.
Any previous naivety he’d clung to had been well and truly ripped to shreds that summer, and he didn’t want to risk his shot at the doctoral programme.
Isaiah took his position in front of his laptop and opened the stream.
A text buzzed on his phone. Ollie, asking if he was heading out later.
They hadn’t spoken properly in weeks; he wasn’t even sure if they were a thing again or still on a break, but he didn’t have time to respond or the bandwidth to consider what Ollie would think of what he was doing now.
He had work to do.
Isaiah watched for a few moments with his camera off as subscribers trickled in. The numbers were higher this week. They’d been steadily climbing, which was doing wonders for his ego.14
Right at 8:02 pm, Isaiah switched on his webcam and smirked. He kept his voice soft, letting it take on the slightly rasping quality that seemed to rake in the tips. “Welcome back, girls, gays, and theys. We’ve got some fresh meat tonight, so welcome to everyone new as well.”
He stretched slowly, deliberately showing a sliver of skin as he read the comments rapidly appearing in the chat box.
“Aw, MidnightLover38, I have had a good day, thank you. Just came from a tough workout with some mates, but I had time to get a special treat ready for you.”
The tip total started to rise.
“Erm, no, sorry. Really not into that,” he replied to a comment asking for something that made him blush to the roots of his hair.
He’d learned over the past couple of months how to moderate the chat, to keep it on the right side of what he was comfortable with, but sometimes it still got out of hand.
The tip counter dinged. “Some of you have already figured it out. I’m setting out some tip goals to get to that special treat, so first of all, when that ticker hits a hundred quid I’ll lose the shirt.”
He grinned as the ticker started to move up, passing one hundred in mere seconds.
“God, you guys aren’t messing today.” Isaiah pulled off his singlet and tossed it to the side.
He sucked his index finger into his mouth before tracing it slowly down the column of his neck, across his collarbone and over the tattoo on his ribs that always grounded him.
Then he slowly let it wander across his chest, drawing circles around his left nipple.
“I’m not feeling very patient either, PillowPrincess21.
Don’t worry, I’ll show you what’s hiding under my joggers as soon as we hit five hundred. ”
Isaiah wanted nothing more than to fall into bed after he closed his stream.
It had been a good one, frotting with an absolutely monstrous dildo a subscriber had posted him last week.
He was completely spent, literally and figuratively, but he still had to review his notes for his epistemology tutorial, and probably respond to Ollie, then meet up with his friends at the pub.
He stared at the half-written notes on his desk for a moment. The words barely seemed like English as his eyelids drooped.
Isaiah
Sorry babe, just finishing up some notes. Where you at?
He tidied away his gear and tried to focus on his notes again, jotting down a few key points from the papers he’d found in the footnotes of the assigned reading.
Ollie still hadn’t responded by the time Isaiah had closed his notebook and pulled his going-out clothes on. He flicked open his socials, scrolling absently through. His cousin’s story made him smile; he was so damn sweet with his boyfriend.
Still no reply from his own supposed-boyfriend…or whatever.
He checked Ollie’s profile. His story had a bunch of shots of him and his friends at the Bridge, a pub that students from every college frequented.
It was the same one he’d promised his own friends he’d make an appearance at when he was free, especially since Jake and Mal had said they’d make an effort for the auspicious occasion of the first Thursday of term, something the cross-country team had been making a habit of for as long as he’d been a part of it, probably longer.
Hell, knowing Oxford, the tradition probably went back for as long as the team had existed.
15 An image filled his mind of the greats of running following this same ritual.
Darius Hewitt nearly a decade ago. Hell, maybe even Darius’s father, the Duke of Cumberland, was getting blathered and smoking in the wood-panelled pub back in the 90’s.
The image made him giggle to himself. He grabbed his jacket and exited into the cool autumn evening, shoving his phone into his pocket as the brisk air hit his face.
The Bridge was packed. Isaiah spotted Amara by the bar and made his way over to her.
When he reached her, a genuine smile pulled across his face.
Jacob and Malek stood with her, and they pulled Isaiah into a quick hug, ruffling his hair as they greeted him.
He’d missed the arseholes since moving out of their place.