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Description
Shaun Hastings was fast asleep, his body still save for a few shallow breaths, his chest raising and falling a little with each one that passed his lips. The fanciful world of human dreams playing out behind his eyes. It was a fairly familiar dream, one that by this point he must have had every night for at least the last few weeks.

Then like clockwork he would awake at dawn, just before the rays of morning painted the grass with radiant beams of sunshine, making the morning dew sparkle, a detail that he always noticed when walking across it to the driveway where the assassin's car was parked, waiting silently for him from its place on the gravel. It was time for another day of driving and searching, chasing the white eagle who flitted across the rooftops, hunting his pray across the metropolis while Shaun trailed him, waiting for when, or if, he needed backup.

And so would go another day, his time spent waiting and sitting, watching from the car as the other sailed far above him. Forcing himself to keep his gaze on the deep Atlantic skies, looking for the other as he floated far above the pavement, leaping from building to building with almost unnatural skill, while Shaun just sat, observing the assassins path. So it went from dawn to dusk, sometimes the day would run so long that he would end up watching until the moon had risen to the top of the heavens. Day or night he would fly, high above the avenues, and Shaun was left to search among the clouds, trying to see him. A job that was more difficult than it sounds, as most of the time he would only be able to catch the faintest blur of white hoodie and blue jeans streaking across the sky.

That was how it went, Desmond soaring above like the bird he was, leaving solid ground and hard pavement to the old plane and regular guy, but Sometimes, when Shaun was sitting in his car keeping an eye out for the American he would think; wish rather, that he could do that, If he could only be overhead in the airway with Desmond.

The thought of sailing through the endless sky, the cold chill of the evening closing around them, Desmond at his side as they jumped and leaped, the modern structures of man proving to be no match for the two of them. Sadly, the reality would always stay the same, and while he was still bound by the laws of gravity the road would be where he would stay, and Desmond would still fly, forever aloft in the airway.

But when night fell and he was finally alone, he would still dream, of how Desmond looked against the dark sky, painting the stars against the heavens as he ran across the skyscrapers, turning the darkness into twilight as he went, seemingly suspended in nothing but the thin air. If only his silhouette could always stay there, so every time he looked at the sky he could remember him.

And so it would stay, always the same, him stuck on the ground, Desmond in the sky. He could only watch, as Desmond was held aloft, forever out of his reach. Secretly Shaun yearned for it to not be this way, but try or not, he could not take flight, for he was not born like Desmond was, he lacked the spark that gave the assassins their skill. Unlike Desmond, he was just an everyday, normal, common place human, and even his powers of deduction and advanced historical education that had made him an assassin by name, still couldn't give him the power to float upon the air the way that Desmond might.

however what this historian didn't know, was that so day after day, when he was watching the white winged eagle fly, two hazelnut eyes were gazing back down from the airway, trying to pick him out from all the other traffic on the ground, but more often than not all he could see of the Englishman was just a blur of a black automobile. That darted in and out between the multicolored mess of cars.

But a change had to come, and soon enough it did, and it was on this day that Shaun found himself in the airway, Desmond at his side as he was coerced over the rooftops. Instructions were given and followed, elbows were bruised, knees scraped, English swears spat, American obscenities growled. By the time they were done Shaun's heart was on fire in his chest, his body hot and sweating from the hardest workout of his life. Exhausted but content, he sighed deeply when he felt the reassuring grip of Desmond's hand on his shoulder as he was told it was time to return to the ground.

As they descended, taking the stairs as some small mercy to the winded historian, Shaun bit his tongue as he tried to work up some form of thanks to give to Desmond, after all, stupid American or not He had shown him how to fly, and sure it hadn't been fast, they hadn't gone far, and he was going to have those bruises for a good few weeks, but he had flown and dammit if it wasn't every bit as amazing as he dreamed it would be.

There was something about being on those rooftops with Desmond, it was exciting, it was fun, and once more it felt oddly natural, almost as natural as it felt when he was pushed into the cold concrete wall at the bottom of the industrial stairwell, Desmond's hot tongue sliding into his mouth to toy with his own. Lips locking and unlocking feverishly as Shaun had a second taste of the curry they had for dinner on the other assassin's tongue.

Quietly in the back of his mind, far away from the heated kisses, Shaun reflected on how this would be the new way of things, no more sitting and wishing from the hot seat of a car, no more dreaming of what he thought could never be, from now on they would train together, and every day, it would just be Desmond and him, in the airway, aloft in the airway, in love on the airway..

Description
Shaun Hastings was fast asleep, his body still save for a few shallow breaths, his chest raising and falling a little with each one that passed his lips. The fanciful world of human dreams playing out behind his eyes. It was a fairly familiar dream, one that by this point he must have had every night for at least the last few weeks.

Then like clockwork he would awake at dawn, just before the rays of morning painted the grass with radiant beams of sunshine, making the morning dew sparkle, a detail that he always noticed when walking across it to the driveway where the assassin's car was parked, waiting silently for him from its place on the gravel. It was time for another day of driving and searching, chasing the white eagle who flitted across the rooftops, hunting his pray across the metropolis while Shaun trailed him, waiting for when, or if, he needed backup.

And so would go another day, his time spent waiting and sitting, watching from the car as the other sailed far above him. Forcing himself to keep his gaze on the deep Atlantic skies, looking for the other as he floated far above the pavement, leaping from building to building with almost unnatural skill, while Shaun just sat, observing the assassins path. So it went from dawn to dusk, sometimes the day would run so long that he would end up watching until the moon had risen to the top of the heavens. Day or night he would fly, high above the avenues, and Shaun was left to search among the clouds, trying to see him. A job that was more difficult than it sounds, as most of the time he would only be able to catch the faintest blur of white hoodie and blue jeans streaking across the sky.

That was how it went, Desmond soaring above like the bird he was, leaving solid ground and hard pavement to the old plane and regular guy, but Sometimes, when Shaun was sitting in his car keeping an eye out for the American he would think; wish rather, that he could do that, If he could only be overhead in the airway with Desmond.

The thought of sailing through the endless sky, the cold chill of the evening closing around them, Desmond at his side as they jumped and leaped, the modern structures of man proving to be no match for the two of them. Sadly, the reality would always stay the same, and while he was still bound by the laws of gravity the road would be where he would stay, and Desmond would still fly, forever aloft in the airway.

But when night fell and he was finally alone, he would still dream, of how Desmond looked against the dark sky, painting the stars against the heavens as he ran across the skyscrapers, turning the darkness into twilight as he went, seemingly suspended in nothing but the thin air. If only his silhouette could always stay there, so every time he looked at the sky he could remember him.

And so it would stay, always the same, him stuck on the ground, Desmond in the sky. He could only watch, as Desmond was held aloft, forever out of his reach. Secretly Shaun yearned for it to not be this way, but try or not, he could not take flight, for he was not born like Desmond was, he lacked the spark that gave the assassins their skill. Unlike Desmond, he was just an everyday, normal, common place human, and even his powers of deduction and advanced historical education that had made him an assassin by name, still couldn't give him the power to float upon the air the way that Desmond might.

however what this historian didn't know, was that so day after day, when he was watching the white winged eagle fly, two hazelnut eyes were gazing back down from the airway, trying to pick him out from all the other traffic on the ground, but more often than not all he could see of the Englishman was just a blur of a black automobile. That darted in and out between the multicolored mess of cars.

But a change had to come, and soon enough it did, and it was on this day that Shaun found himself in the airway, Desmond at his side as he was coerced over the rooftops. Instructions were given and followed, elbows were bruised, knees scraped, English swears spat, American obscenities growled. By the time they were done Shaun's heart was on fire in his chest, his body hot and sweating from the hardest workout of his life. Exhausted but content, he sighed deeply when he felt the reassuring grip of Desmond's hand on his shoulder as he was told it was time to return to the ground.

As they descended, taking the stairs as some small mercy to the winded historian, Shaun bit his tongue as he tried to work up some form of thanks to give to Desmond, after all, stupid American or not He had shown him how to fly, and sure it hadn't been fast, they hadn't gone far, and he was going to have those bruises for a good few weeks, but he had flown and dammit if it wasn't every bit as amazing as he dreamed it would be.

There was something about being on those rooftops with Desmond, it was exciting, it was fun, and once more it felt oddly natural, almost as natural as it felt when he was pushed into the cold concrete wall at the bottom of the industrial stairwell, Desmond's hot tongue sliding into his mouth to toy with his own. Lips locking and unlocking feverishly as Shaun had a second taste of the curry they had for dinner on the other assassin's tongue.

Quietly in the back of his mind, far away from the heated kisses, Shaun reflected on how this would be the new way of things, no more sitting and wishing from the hot seat of a car, no more dreaming of what he thought could never be, from now on they would train together, and every day, it would just be Desmond and him, in the airway, aloft in the airway, in love on the airway..