14. Isaiah #2
Amara had him half-convinced that everything was fine by the time he got to cross-country practice. Still no reply from Green, still dreading the talk with Flash, but…at least she didn’t think his academic career was over—that was something, right?
Jake greeted him with a hearty backslap, and he let himself get lost in the run over the muddy trails.
The chill in the air bit at his exposed skin, and his nose was bright red by the time he stumbled back to Balliol, looking forward to a hot shower before his call with Flash.
He tried to convince himself the call was absolutely nothing to worry about and was just going to be an ordinary, run-of-the-mill cam show with his sexiest subscriber. That was all.
His mouth watered as he let his mind drift to Flash’s hard abs and thick cock. God, this was going to be exactly what he needed to get over the weirdness of the last couple of days.
He wiped his trainers at the door as best he could, though slick mud still covered his calves, then pushed the heavy doors open into the entrance hall.
Isaiah cringed as he heard the soft squelch with every footstep as he made his way up the stone staircase.
It was quiet, and shadows flickered, cast by the lamps that lined the wide stairs as he climbed.
Matt was leaning against the wall on the first landing, scrolling on his phone.
Isaiah nodded at him, not sparing a thought to what he was doing here.
He was exhausted and desperate for the shower.
As he passed, an arm darted out and grabbed his.
Isaiah stumbled in shock as Matt whirled him around, pressing him into the cold stone wall.
Isaiah gasped, shock and fear running through him.
Matt’s forearm pressed against Isaiah’s collarbone.
It wasn’t quite painful, but it was firm; he could’ve broken free if he pushed, but his body wouldn’t quite connect the actions that his brain was screaming for.
Cold from outside still clung to Isaiah’s skin, sweat cooling under his damp running top, the drying mud flaking from his calves onto the flagstones.
Up close, Matt smelled faintly of coffee and expensive soap. He studied Isaiah, calm and composed. Like this was a tutorial, not an ambush.
“Relax,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Isaiah’s pulse thudded in his throat. “Then get off me.”
After a beat, Matt eased back half an inch, but didn’t fully step away. Close enough to block the staircase. Close enough to make it clear this conversation wasn’t optional.
“I read your proposal,” he said. “For your DPhil research. I’ve been working with Schmidt.”
Isaiah swallowed. “Okay.”
“‘Performative Intimacy and Moral Agency: Autonomy, Consent, and Labour Ethics in Digital Sex Work.’” His mouth twitched like he’d tasted something sour. “That’s the full title, isn’t it?”
Isaiah’s stomach dropped. “Yes.”
“It’s…ambitious. Very on brand.”
Isaiah tried to shift sideways. Matt’s hand landed on the wall beside his head, casually caging him in.
“I have somewhere to be,” Isaiah said. His voice came out thinner than he wanted. “So if this is about the proposal—”
“It’s about Ollie,” Matt cut in. “And how you could think I’d let you get away with doing this to him.”
Isaiah went still. “Doing what to him?” he asked softly.
“He was a mess over you, and I hated it,” Matt said. “Then Schmidt showed me your proposal. She was excited. Thought it was intriguing. Different.”
Isaiah preened a bit despite the situation.
“I was curious though, how you could speak so confidently about sex work as labour. About porn as a site of agency rather than exploitation.” A pause. “Turns out, you’re not just theorising.”
Ice slid down Isaiah’s spine.
Matt tilted his head. “Your channel isn’t hard to find if you know what you’re looking for. And I’ve heard enough about that corny tattoo you have to recognise what I found.” He glared. “Ollie fucking trusted you. You broke up with him over a fucking kiss, when you were pulling this shit.”
Isaiah’s ears rang. “You—”
“I could speak to the Director of Graduate Studies,” he said mildly. “And to IT services. University networks, you know? Reputation. Safeguarding. All those dull, procedural things.”
“You’d report me,” Isaiah said, the cold fact crashing over him.
“Well, it is a concern.” Matt smiled. “A prospective doctoral candidate publicly producing explicit material while claiming to represent this department’s research on sexual ethics.”
Isaiah’s hands were shaking now. “You don’t really care about that though. You think this hurts Ollie. If you want to talk about hurting Ollie, take a fucking look at yourself, Matt.”
Matt shifted, just slightly. Just enough for Isaiah to push him off.
“Fucking with my livelihood isn’t going to win you points after the shit you’ve pulled with him.”
“Maybe not,” Matt said softly. “But it’s something I can do.
” He stepped back at last, smoothing an imaginary crease in his sleeve.
“Besides, you’re tainting my degree. Ollie’s too.
You think we want the philosophy department associated with—” He gestured vaguely at Isaiah. “—live-streamed masturbation?”
Heat flooded Isaiah’s face. Shame, hot and immediate, followed by a surge of anger so sharp it steadied him.
“You don’t care about the department. You’re fucking jealous.
” Isaiah barked a breathless laugh. “And you can’t prove shit.
You recognised my tattoo? Congratulations.
What are you going to do, have me take off my clothes in front of all the senior faculty to prove it? ”
Red crept up Matt’s face, but he didn’t answer. A clock chimed distantly, and Isaiah’s heart lurched.
Flash.
He didn’t have time for this. He needed to move.