“Arms here,” Juno grunted. “And don’t fall off.”
Oh, I won’t, Nureyev thought. “Fourth Avenue, Minerva Drive. Anywhere will do.”
“Damn,” said Juno. He muttered under his breath, “What is it with you people?”
You people? thought Nureyev.
He revved the engine and off they went.
Nureyev was impeccably, totally delighted at this turn of events. It was almost as if he had engineered it. He luxuriously wrapped his arms around Juno’s waist — and what a name, Juno, Juno, he rolled it around his mouth like a marble, like a hidden sweet — and tipped his head back. The city flew by around them. Hyperion had been a nightmare, so far. Just one botched heist after another. But as he always had, he could find joy in the minutiae. The small moments. On the back of a bike, with a boy, streaking down these electric streets so fast they were flying.
“Get out of the damn — hey!” shouted Juno. He was helmetless, wild curls flying around his face as he shook his fist at a passing car. “Indicate, you jackass! You could’ve creamed us!”
“My, Hyperion is something,” said Nureyev politely.
The light turned green and they shot off again. Juno switched lanes and suddenly they were 30 feet higher, along the hover-highway above a different part of town. The road markings glowed in holo-light beneath them, one long fluorescent blur.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet?” shouted Nureyev above the honkings and the horns. Juno twisted to face him so quickly that his heart leapt out of his chest. “Juno!”
“I already got one concussion, what’s one more?” he quipped back.
“You do have a concussion!” cried Nureyev, holding on for dear life.
“Well, you can’t get one, ‘cause you got shot already, so you’ve got the helmet,” said Juno, almost to himself. They weaved in and out, between limousines, trucks, cars, and passing birds. They kept pace with a flock of sparrows for a few seconds, and Nureyev was shocked out of his terror for a moment by the beauty of the thing. “'Cause if I gotta concussion, and you’ve gotta concussion, then who’s driving the bike?”
“You!” cried Nureyev.
“Hey, guess you’re right. Going down,” Juno warned cheerfully, and then they were dipping forward, falling downward, screaming toward Hyperion’s streets at an alarming rate. Nureyev did not scream, but that is because he was not afraid of heights. He may have whimpered, but it was lost in the howling wind.
They stopped at Fourth Avenue, Minerva Drive. Nureyev shook his way off the bike. His thighs had a terrible cramp.
this is from spidersteel chap 4 read here!!!