Title: Lust (a drabble)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Lust is a two way street. Chase/Cameron.

Spoilers: the infamous Hunting scene

Disclaimer: I asked nicely, but they said I'm too poor.

A/N: I know this scene has been done and beaten to death, but I'm supposed to be studying, and the pretty was there to distract me. Not beta-ed, and my first drabble. May continue if prodded with reviews. Happy Reading.

Lust is a two way street.

No, not love, because you can love someone, you can love him or her enough to think that they love you back, and maybe they do, but nobody knows these days…. And marriage, marriage is a two-way street; it's a mix of give and take, it won't work without learning the signs of the street and to know when to yield and let the other pass. But marriage is not love, because love doesn't mean marriage, thus love is not a two-way street. Love is something that you hoped upon, hang your wishes and a distant assurance that as you deal with life and its shit, will be there to greet you one day, maybe even stay with you. But you doubt it; because you already convince yourself that love is a lonely road, where only your old wishes act as the signs and your car its only occupant.

Lust is a two way street.

You can fixate on someone, undress her whenever she walks past, and spill coffee when she suddenly graces you with her attention. But that's not lust. That's fixation… or attraction. But not lust. Because lust is when she called and you drove across town, hoping, willing, and praying that all the traffic lights are green and you can be there in fifteen… no ten minutes and knock on the familiar door and smiled when you thought she had changed her mind about that drink. You were fixated at her, pupils dilating, hands undressing, and mouth spilling her want for you, and the fixation became lust. Because she is gazing at you through drug-induced euphoria; dainty hands usually reserved for saving lives tugging away your shirt, and her attention is finally challenging the innocent in you, the part where you believe that love is a two way street.

But you learn that lust is the better two way street, where all the signs are askew and both of you drive on the wrong side of the street…. She with her excuses—drugs, holier-than-thou attitude, broken pieces—and you with the burden of God's conscience and disappointments of two way street mirage.

Lust is a two street.

Because she's there, pulling you along for the ride, and it was easier to speed through the signs rather than learning them. The moment she throw her head back, arching her spine, and the scenery past you by in blinding lights and glorious ecstasy, you prefer that lust is a two way street. Because she's there, and you're inside of her, and lust is easier than reading the signs and following the rules.