Wade never did tell him where he was going to take him, just that he needed to be ready by seven the night of their next donation. It put Peter in a great mood, great enough that he confidently went home and set up his camera so it was aimed down towards the ground with some soft lighting angled just right to give off some dramatic shadows before he changed and plopped his half-dressed ass down on the ground.

He felt good about himself. Confident you might say . . .

He was arching his back and had splayed his tripod to its limits to get a slightly odd but pretty cool angle that showcased both his abdomen and pose when his laptop chimed loudly behind him. He didn't rush, taking his time finishing up his tame spicy content before he tried diving into something a little more... rewarding. He had a feeling it would be far more financially stabilizing. If it worked. If he was lucky. A more R-rated approach that is.

When he got up to undress further he took a small break to glance at his laptop, eyeing his email nervously as he toed off his webbed boots.

It was from Jameson, the bold title line glared at him in a way that made him both excited and sick. He didn't want to open it. But he needed to.

He sat down and reached for his mouse, the slide of the device atrocious as it glided over the desk.

Parker,

5,000 for a 2-year License. No negotiations.

His heart leaped. And then it fell. But then he was excited because that was a great paycheck. But then he was angry because it was half what he'd asked for. But maybe he'd been overshooting his worth. Could the paper make 10k off one picture? Probably not. He was taking advantage of Jameson's obsession . . . And he didn't feel bad.

Jameson,

Because you have been a loyal client over the years I am willing to offer a substantial discount, but you are not my only contact. This will be my last offer. If I do not receive an answer before Tuesday 12:00p.m. I will move on in my client list. $9,000 18 month license.

Thank you,
Peter Parker
Photographer

He pressed send before he could redact anything or even edit and make sure he spelled everything correctly. He was a photographer, not an editor after all. Not his problem, Right? He was an art student . . .

He was going to scream.

He glanced around frantically for a pillow before shoving his face into it and yelling. Not at the top of his lungs, but close enough. Enough to release some tension.

He pulled away and took a deep breath with closed eyes. All would be well. May always said to put your trust in God and things would eventually fall into place. It wouldn't be when you wanted it to happen but it would.... Only He was ashamed of the idea of being forward with what he was doing. The closest he could get to admitting he was making soft-core porn was to glance towards his camera blamefully.

He sighed and set the pillow down. What a pain... being alive.

Peter glanced at the clock, taking the time into account as he considered his next shot. He had about ten minutes for creativity left at this point. He laid down and grabbed a pillow, edging the rest of his costume off before slipping the cushion under his hips and turning on his side to get a nice non non-revealing shot that was nearly the whole length of his side. He knew the angle of his position should have deepened the shadows of his hip bones, and the white light he was using would apply a nearly delicate appearance, a sharp contrast to the brute strength of the hero people were after.

Yeah, that was good. He wanted to get up and look right away but knew he needed to stop wasting time, taking a few shots would be better, he could busy himself with nitpicking and changing angles later... mostly he was worried about his dick being visible but the reality of the situation is, he could always just edit it out.

He wondered if he'd actually not edit it out? Or maybe purposefully keep himself in? He felt like he was a ways off from that content, but he wondered. He wasn't sure how he felt about it if he was being honest with himself. Was that a good thing?

Honestly, probably not.

He looked at the time again and turned over to climb to his feet and look around for what he was going to wear out. He wasn't one to dress up but he wanted to look halfway decent for Wade. Something a little classier than a hoodie maybe. Though he couldn't say for sure that wasn't exactly what Wade would show up in. He threw on a nice pair of black jeans- the least faded he owned. He told himself he didn't dry them to keep them nice but in reality, he just didn't have the quarters to spare some days.

He scrambled around for a polo. He knew he had a white and blue striped one somewhere in his closet hidden in its 14-inch depths. His hair was the hard part. He wasn't really one to style it. He tried but usually, it just ended up looking wild with product rather than virgin wild... and he felt like adding product would make it too obvious he was taking the outing seriously. So he made sure his hair was laying mostly the same way before slipping into his well-loved converse and just in time for a buzz in his pocket.

He finished lacing his shoes before taking out his phone to glance at the message but by the time he did, there was a quiet rap at the door just above his head. He stood up from his kneeling position with a warm feeling in his chest as he stepped forward.

"You're even going to walk me down?" Peter smiled as he opened the door. He stepped back to open it wider, glancing down to step on his heel to fix his shoe before looking up again with a smile.

His body tensed and an electric shock sprang up his spine when he realized he was staring out into an empty hallway. He hesitated, peering around wearily before taking a hesitant step out of his doorway.

His body was humming with warning and tension, warning him of something in the vicinity, but nothing he could pinpoint. He looked around slowly, looking down one side of the hall and then the other while listening for the sounds of someone- anyone. Maybe he'd just heard the knock of a neighbor's door?

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a step creaking loudly followed by the noise of someone running up the stairs. He panicked, glancing back into his apartment, contemplating a retreat, but he actually needed to check his phone and meet Wade downstairs. Where were his keys? Shit and his wallet.

"Oh, hey are you ready to go?" Wade recognized him before Peter could even fully see him emerge from the stairwell. He relaxed. And then laughed nervously when he thought about Wade passing that one strange door in conjunction with what had just happened. "Yeah, I just about walked out without my wallet. Just a second." He slipped back inside to grab his things, making himself quick while Wade wandered to a stop at his doorway.

Wade was also dressed up a little. Similarity not to be obvious, but enough for Peter to know he did the exact same thing he had done. Wade in turn was wearing slightly nicer pants. They didn't look like dress pants but they were a step up from jeans. Peter honestly didn't know what material they were supposed to be. And he was wearing a sweater layered over a collared shirt. It was cute... and looked strange on the guy. He couldn't help but smile which helped him relax a bit.

"All you'll need is your ID. Don't bother with the wallet."

"What if I get robbed while we're out?"

Wade paused "Pretty sure Spider-Man lives here... besides, you have renters insurance. Let it be his problem."

"Spider-Man?" Peter asked, impressed with himself. He'd imagined this type of conversation happening over and over in his head for years. But the few times it had come up he'd been a stuttering mess. But this time? Smooth as butter "What you talking about? I feel like I'd notice if I had a superhero swinging in and out of my building day in and day out."

Wade just shrugged "I'm just saying."

"I'm still bringing my wallet." He said, said item was already in his back pocket. He locked his door and turned on his heel to face Wade, still a little uneasy about... the thing that happened.

"Probably for the best."

What if he did get robbed? Or hunted... or worse, what if someone came in and waited for him?

Wade stared at him for a moment, blue eyes taking over him quickly. "You alright?"

"Of course I'm alright. Are you alright?" He asked. "I'm just still feeling yucky from earlier, don't worry about it." He smiled.

The other man didn't look entirely convinced but sidled up next to him to walk him towards the stairs. "Does your arm still hurt or do you feel gross from the environment?" He asked, wrapping an arm around Peter as he led him back down the hall.

"No, I've healed from earlier already. I'm a little tender but that's not it." When he donated today the tech needed to adjust his IV not once, but twice, and just thinking back to it made him want to squirm. God he hated getting adjustments, they were so disgusting, they did make him feel bad.

"Did you shower after you went, is it the smell, or are you just thinking about it?" He asked, rubbing Peter's arm as they went. He was on Peter's hood side so when he rubbed over his donation arm it actually kind of helped him forget the unpleasant sensation he'd just recalled.

"I didn't wash my hair, maybe I didn't get the smell out." Peter sighed. He was lying about what was initially bothering him, but donating did always bother him so he wasn't completely lying either.

"I didn't wash my hair either if that makes you feel better."

Peter laughed and looked up at Wade. They were still close so they needed to take the stairs at the same time to keep close. "You're going to have to start pretty soon." It had only been two days but he could see Wade had a full head of hair coming in. His scaring was still smooth a silvery, and there was a shadow of his entire hairline, something that Peter had never seen before. Wade had a bit of a widow's peak.

"I know. I'm so fucking excited Peter. It's been... I don't know, ten years since I've had hair? I buzzed my hair when I was sixteen or seventeen before joining the military. I was discharged, kept the cut because I thought I was cool or something when I went into a new job field, and then they found cancer and shit hit the fan." Wade shook his head. "I miss having hair."

"Are you a brunette?" Peter asked curiously.

"Maybe I am now, but I was blonde when I was young," Wade explained. "I might be old enough now to have lost it, but I had platinum hair as a kid, maybe I'm still blonde."

"The way blonde people change color as they get older is pretty weird. Whatever the case. I think you'll look great. And I think regardless of the shade, you'd still be blonde even if you've darkened. You know... so like legally, you're blonde."

"Maybe." Wade smiled as he watched the steps as they walked down. "Honestly, I'm afraid of relapsing again. I'm so good right now Peter, I know it can't last forever but... I just want it to last long enough to feel formal for a little while." He said quietly.

Peter stared at the man for a moment, the mention of how Wade described how his normally felt like he had molten lava under the sling settling in. Wade was always in pain. He was literally uncomfortable in his skin, and right now for the first time since he was basically a kid, he was happy. He felt okay.

His heart broke.

"Whatever happens, I'll do whatever I can to help." He promised.