A/N: Well, yee-ha, I actually wrote another one-shot. This is just reflections on the first ten kisses between Reid and Morgan. There's a bit of sexy stuff throughout, so you can look forward to, or be threatened by, that.

Love,

Seds

Spencer Reid was lost in a kiss. Derek Morgan's mouth was warm and hungry against his, and it was difficult to think of anything except the smooth sliding of slick moist flesh against his own that was causing arousal to course through his bloodstream, shooting him full of hot flares of desire, and ending up in one hell of a serious erection.

It was the tenth time. The tenth kiss, the best yet, although, really, they all were the best, each one supplanting the other as his favorite memory, each one unique in its own way.

The first time had been so soft. Morgan had leaned forward tentatively, gingerly grazing Reid's lips with his own, then he'd stepped back and searched his eyes for any sign of reluctance, or dismay, or worst of all, disgust. He'd found none, so he went back for a second try, and this time was rewarded with Reid pressing his mouth against his, shy, clearly unsure of the protocol, but so, so willing to learn.

The second time had been raw. A hot passionate attack on his mouth, Morgan's tongue squirming between his lips, a slight taste of liquor lingering to flavor the already heady burst of sensations. Who knows what would have happened if Reid's phone hadn't gone off; an hour later they were in an SUV, speeding through pouring rain, trying to find a missing girl. The memory of the taste of Morgan's lips was pushed to the back of Reid's mind, to be carefully processed and endlessly pondered at a later date.

The third time was more sedate, almost prim and proper to begin with. It was the first time Reid had seen it coming, and he'd been determined to savor the experience, to appreciate each tiny detail in turn, the scratch of Morgan's mustache, the sound of his breathing, the scent of whatever damn aftershave it was that he used, which Reid would cheerfully testify contained some sort of human sex pheromones. That kiss ended abruptly when Morgan slid his hand down to Reid's ass and pressed him tightly against him; that would have been all right, but he managed to grind his erection into Reid's thigh, and Reid had jerked back, startled.

Morgan read him wrong, and assumed he was repulsed; he'd stared at Reid for a moment before turning and walking out the door. Reid never did get the words together in time to tell him it wasn't him, it wasn't Morgan's plain manifestation of physical arousal that caused him to jolt away, but the fact that the same echoed through him a split second later and made him feel things, things he couldn't look up in a text book on human sexuality, things that made him want to cry, things that made him want to bite down and bring blood, things that made him feel more tender than he'd known it was possible to feel, all at the same time. He hadn't been able to explain that he couldn't handle it, that it was brain overload, and that he'd jumped back out of sheer confusion.

Even two days later, he still wasn't sure how to make Morgan understand that, and in the meantime, the other agent had held him at arm's length.

The fourth time, Reid initiated it. He'd had enough of Morgan avoiding his eyes and leaving the room when he walked in; he'd nabbed him in the supply closet, grabbed his face in his hands, and kissed the hell out of him. When he'd finally let go, Morgan had stared at him, bewildered and panting, and then he'd smiled.

After that, everything was all right again.

The fifth time was the first time they'd kissed sitting down. They were quietly saying goodbye to each other before Morgan went off on a dangerous mission; the sixth time was two days later, after Reid had had to seriously face the possibility that he'd never see Morgan alive again.

He'd waited until everyone had finished greeting him and exclaiming over the bandages on his shoulder, and telling him how glad they were to see him. Reid had waited, cold and stone-faced in a corner with his arms folded over his chest, until Morgan came up to him and said, "Hey, pretty boy," with that devastating smile covering up the fact that he knew exactly the kind of pain Reid had been suffering for the last 48 hours.

Reid had abruptly grabbed his good arm and dragged him down the hall, out into the night to a secluded spot by the dumpsters. He'd kissed him like fury, biting, licking, his breath coming fast, then he'd dropped to his knees and gave Derek Morgan the first blow job he'd ever given in his life. Morgan had protested at first, then settled in, let it happen, and he'd come too fast, spilling before he could warn Reid what was coming, and the younger agent had coughed and sputtered, gagging a little, but he didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care.

Morgan was home, and that was all that mattered.

The seventh time was in a bed.

It was a pretty upscale hotel room, at least by BAU standards; Garcia had lucked into a good deal online, and everyone had congratulated her on finding a place that had little bottles of both soap AND conditioner, and, as Reid nervously noted, plenty of pillows on the bed. Morgan had come up behind him and nuzzled his neck as he squeezed his shoulders; "We don't have to do this tonight, Spence. I can wait 'til you're ready." He'd burrowed his nose into Reid's hair and inhaled deeply before adding, "Only when you're ready."

"I want to," he'd answered. I need to, he'd thought.

Morgan had laid him down and carefully undressed him, watching for any sign that Reid might be reconsidering his rash request, whispered across a barroom table; with none forthcoming, Morgan kept going, taking him down to his boxer shorts, then stopping to tenderly kiss him as he slid out of his own clothes.

Reid had wrapped his arms around Morgan's neck and kissed back. It was slow and easy and warm, and the electric signals Morgan was shocking Reid's nervous system with let him know that there was much more, much better, to come.

Morgan kissed down his neck, then began adventuring, looking for all the most sensitive, delicate spots; under his arms, in and around his belly button, the insides of his thighs. He'd laughed at how Reid writhed under him, flinching, moaning, begging him to stop, begging for more. Then, when Morgan relented and went back to his mouth, it was Reid's turn to explore.

He'd searched out the scars. The new, ragged one on Morgan's shoulder, the thin straight one above his eye, a nick here, remnants of a bloody encounter with some sort of metal there. He'd lightly fingered them each in turn, then he'd kissed them, and traced their shape with his tongue.

The eighth time was afterwards, after Morgan had made love to him, after he'd stretched and soothed and entered him, after he'd thrust and thrust, and hastily withdrawn when Reid made a noise that sounded like pain, but which was actually utter amazement, and he'd said, "Please, Morgan-I want you inside me," so softly, Morgan had to strain to hear it. The eighth time was one of the best times, and it was definitely the one that would stay in Reid's heart to his dying day. It was when Morgan, sated and spent, had gathered him into his arms and kissed him as though he treasured him, not saying a word, but cradling him as though he were a precious gift, a blessing.

The ninth time was yesterday, and the tenth was today, and after this, Reid resolved to quit counting because, really, when it came to Derek Morgan, it was all one long, sweet kiss that never really stopped, just paused as they took time to work, eat, sleep, and play.

The tenth kiss was the best kiss, because as far as Spencer Reid was concerned, it was the one that would last forever.

The End