This is just a little letter Derek wrote to Meredith before Addison.


Disclaimer: I don't own GA or the ppl in it!

I accept the fact that I want you.

You've got really great legs. Your knees aren't bony. Your thighs are shapely enough that I like them wrapped around me when I put myself inside you. They look great in a mini skirt. They look great in high heels. They look great thrown over my shoulders when I make you come with my mouth. The legs are good. Crossed or open, they are very good. Except when I catch other guys staring at them, that's the only time I have a problem with them.

Your legs are what brought me to you – I saw them in that smoky pub and all I could think about was running my hands all over the silky skin. I remember approaching you, touching you, and then the haze lifted. They were even more fascinating because of your mouth, your next best feature.

Speaking, shouting, swearing, kissing, sucking…your mouth is incredible. Your lips are so soft and full it's almost comforting when you kiss me, but there's the heat, the wetness inside that arouse me. When you wrap those soft, full lips around my cock and I feel your hot, wet mouth, I almost forget how you challenge, frustrate and infuriate me. I remember how strong a reaction you draw and I allow myself to enjoy fucking you senseless.

It's only an added bonus that we ended up working at the same place, otherwise this relationship would never have existed. The pleasure of that fact isn't nearly as satisfying as when I come inside you.

I accept the fact that I like you.

So you are fairly amusing outside the bedroom. So what if you have many interests and make me laugh until I need to piss. So what if I know your heart is good and pure and always considering others. I see you with children, I see you with others. Always giving, always sharing.

Even the other guys around you bask in your glory, they surround you, take up most your time, because of these qualities. I didn't have a choice – if I ever wanted to fuck you I had to be around you. It was easier than I thought. Even before I knew it, I was saying more, I was admitting more, and you were listening. Not because we were fucking and you felt obligated, not because you were going to use the information later to blackmail me, but because you cared. You wanted to know more, like you always did. I could trust you, although you never asked me too.

I accept the fact that I need you.

More and more, I can't stop thinking about you. I think about you when I wake up and when I go to sleep, where you are, what you are doing, who you are with. I am jealous of the people you spend your time with, when your not with me.

I hold you tighter and you follow suit. Whether you know it or not, those stolen moments have begun to mean more and more. I count the time before I get to see you again, waiting not so patiently. I want you by me more and more, and when I can't have you I think of how my lust has evolved into something that scares me, but I still can't get enough.

When I take you into my arms and you ask why I shake, how can I explain the disease you have instilled in me?

I accept the fact that I love you.

I watch you while you sleep in my arms. I brush that unruly hair out of your face; no longer wishing you'd cut it. I feel the warm of your body against mine and think to myself, now this is heaven. I could wake up everyday to your hair in my face and your arms around me. I could imagine our lives together, your breasts and stomach swollen during pregnancy, a son, with my hair and your eyes, tall and demanding of life, and a daughter, with your long, blond hair and my skin, so perfect and curious. I imagine our vacations together as a family, all over the world. I imagine reading together by the fire. I imagine our children growing old and having their own families and playing with grandkids in the snow.

I imagine watching you die before my eyes, your body old and wrinkled and your spirit retreating into the afterlife. I imagine following you, finding you waiting for me in the Elysian Fields where we could talk and fight and fuck and make love for all eternity.

But I don't have to accept telling you all this.

After all I am still your superior, your dirty secret, your bad habit. Do your friends know how hard you come when I push into you, or how you come undone by my mouth?

How hard do you fight it?

When will you accept it?