Alright, so this is pretty short. It's a pretty basic Dick/Jason discovery snapshot, from a prompt by the Tumblr user 'Fiendishpersona'. - Jason/Dick, "I think we need to talk." - Decided to have some fun and flip things around. XD

No warnings. Go, have fun, enjoy. XD (I'll be posting a second thing too, since this came to a close faster than than I thought it was going to.)

Usually, when the last thing you can remember is getting smacked in the head, waking is not a fun experience. This is no different, of course.

My skull aches, and even though I'm on something soft and pretty comfortable, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I pry my eyes open; combat reflexes are hard to shake, and insist that if I can't immediately hear anyone around me, I should get my eyes open and figure out where I am. It's not that hard, which raises my hope that the ache in my skull isn't actually that serious, and the sight that meets my gaze is comfortingly familiar. Dark rock, way above me. I'm in the Cave.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," says a slightly mocking voice, as what I'm pretty sure is the toe of a boot digs into my waist. I drag my gaze down, following the lines of the legs propped up on the medical cot next to me up to the chair the offender is sitting in. Jason flashes me a grin, poking me with the toe of his boot again. "Eyesight focusing alright? Nothing fuzzy or really hurting?"

I raise my hand and shove his legs off the cot — he snorts — before lifting my fingers to my own skull. "Ow," I comment, as I find the sore point a little ways back from my left temple. "No, I'm good. What am I doing in the Cave? I wasn't out for that long, was I?"

Jason gets up from the chair, ignoring my obvious message and sitting down in the spot next to my hip that I just shoved his legs off of. "Nah. B sent me back with you while the rest of the gang is finishing things off. No communication yet, and no distress calls, so I suppose they're fine." He rolls his eyes, one gloved hand nudging the same point in my waist that his boot was. "I think B was just getting pissy about me shooting people, personally. You would've been just fine if we left you in the car."

"Knock that off," I snap, without heat. I rub my hand over my eyes — my mask is off, guess that makes sense for a head injury — and blink a few times to reorder the night in my head. "Did I black out?"

Jason snorts again, loud enough to make me pull my hand off of my eyes and look down at him. He's grinning at me, blue-green eyes narrowed in a way I know means that I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say. "Yeah, you passed out. Right into my arms, too." I groan, raising my leg and shoving at his side with my knee, trying to force him off the cot and away from me. He does stand, but I know it's only because he's humoring me. "I mean, I knew you were kind of the king of dramatic sprawling, but really, Dick? Right in my arms?" His tone is teasing as he grins, shoulders rolling in a shrug and his left hand braced on his hip. "If you wanted my attention that badly you could have just asked."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and thank you brain this is not the time for another reminder that Jason is tall, and good looking, and so confident it's unbelievable. Also really not the time to remember that his voice is deep and rolling, or the careful precision of his hands when he's stitching up a wound, or how soft he can be when one of us really is hurt. It ties my tongue in a knot and raises swirls in my stomach that I'd usually put down to the head wound, but right now I'm pretty sure is something very, very different.

Jason's grin slips, and I open my mouth to speak and say something, but he beats me to it. "When I make jokes like that," he starts quietly, studying me. "Is that flush embarrassment, or is it because I'm hitting a little too close to the mark?"

My tongue fails me again, just when I need it. I stare at Jason, with a dozen different thoughts battling for control of my head and all of the emotions there to serve as backup. The fingers of the hand I don't have raised up above my head clench down into the sheets, and Jason's gaze flicks that direction for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. I need to speak, I need to say something. Yes, or no, or just maybe change the subject because there's no way Jason's actually meant any of that seriously, right? He even said jokes.

"Jason—"

"No," he shakes his head, freeing me from his gaze for a second as his hand rises in the universal 'stop' motion. He's silent for a second, and then meets my gaze again. "Alright, here's what I'm going to do." Walk out? Not talk to the brother that's been looking at him anything but innocently for way too long? "I'm going to lean down, and I'm going to kiss you." What? "And then I'm going to straighten back up, and pretend like it never happened. If I'm misreading this, fuck it. It's a weird moment and we can just ignore it. If I'm not…" He stares for a moment, then raises one shoulder in a shrug. "Then I guess it's your move."

Jason bends down, his left arm bracing on the bed beside my head, and there's almost no hesitation in the way the fingers of his right hand trace my jaw and tilt my jaw up to a better angle. His lips are soft, and the way he kisses isn't with the aggression and leashed violence that I expected, and fantasized about. It's carefully precise, like how he strips apart a firearm. Efficient, he knows what he's doing, but with respect because what he's touching is a weapon.

I have to smother a laugh at the idea that Jason is kissing me with the same respect as he uses when he handles a gun.

God, Jason is kissing me.

He pulls back a little bit, a soft breath leaving him, and I flick my eyes open. He's close, hovering just a little bit above me. "Alright," he breathes, and pulls away from me.

I'm moving before I realize what I'm doing. My hand snaps up, grabbing hold of the first thing I touch, which happens to be his hair, and then I pull him down. Then, suddenly, Jason's knees are hitting the metal floor and his throat is arching back because I'm pulling hard, and he's making a noise that it takes me a second to realize is one of the most guttural groans I've ever heard in my life. His right hand clenches down on my arm, but before I can take it as the demand to let go that I'm sure it is, it gentles and his moment of stiffness melts away.

I stare in shock and hunger as he eases, leaning into the arch of his throat as his hand strokes down over the black and blue of the suit still covering my arm. Like he's giving me permission without saying even a word. My gaze snaps to his throat as he swallows, and I follow the bob of his Adam's apple up and then down again. Still, he doesn't pull against my hold, and he doesn't seem to mind that I'm keeping his head back and his neck arched. Bared, a darker part of my mind says, and the part of my mind that's imagined Jason a thousand different ways, but not like this, backs that thought up.

I ignore the ache in my skull as I push up on my other arm — there's no nausea or dizziness to go with it, so I can deal — and then reach for him as soon as I'm sitting up. I trace my fingers down the front of his throat, and my whole mind blanks out for a second as he shudders. His eyes are closed, left arm loose by his side and the right only keeping the faintest pressure on the bicep of the arm with my fingers in his hair. Words come to mind and die on my tongue, and in the absence of anything to say I lean in and kiss him. His hand squeezes down on my arm for a second, and then he meets me. There's all the passion his kiss was missing earlier. There's still respect there, still precision, but mostly it's hunger.

To see what will happen, I tighten my fingers in his hair and pull.

He gives another shudder, and a quiet, hitched moan that drives a tremble down my spine. "Fuck," he murmurs between us. "Dick, if this is some kind of testing thing and you're not serious you need to stop right now."

I pull back a little bit, easing my grip and letting him raise his head up enough to flick his eyes open and meet mine. The look in them almost makes me lose my words again; hunger, want, and wariness. "If it's not?" I ask, and he takes in a small, sharp breath.

"Still your move." His voice is a deep, rough thing, darkened but also breathier. "I think we need to talk. Probably before anything else happens, or before the rest of the family gets back."

Like his words are some kind of a summons, the distinct ting of the sensor alarm on the vehicle entrance to the Cave rings through the air, and we both jerk. But I don't let go, and he doesn't pull away. It'll be a few minutes, there's a bit of time, I can—

"Fuck, B's going to kill me," Jason mutters. "Corrupting the golden boy; think that comes before or after shooting people?"

"I don't think B needs to know anything about this unless we want him to," I counter, and his gaze rises back up to meet mine. I touch the front of his throat with my free hand, and get hooked for a second at the hitch of his breath that I can hear and almost feel. "I didn't picture you as a sub." Which is probably a really terrible thing to say, but it's out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Didn't picture you as a dom," he answers, voice a rough growl. "It's dom, right? You're not just a top? 'Cause tops don't usually keep a hold like this or use 'sub' as a term when they're talking ab—"

"Hush." He goes silent instantly, which shocks pretty much all of me, and then shudders and draws in a deeper breath. His jaw works like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet and still, holding my gaze. "You're right, we need to talk. Later, out of the Cave and away from the rest of them. We can negotiate then, get all this sorted out and decide what we want to do with it. That sound good?"

"Sounds great. Your place, or mine?"

I can hear the faint roar of the Batmobile, and instead of answering I push his head down and lean in. I shove his jacket away from the back of his neck, and pull him up far enough that I can get my mouth against his skin. He gives a rumbling groan, fingers rhythmically clenching on my arm as I use my remaining seconds to drag a mark to the surface of his skin, as low down as I can get it before his armor starts, and over one of the bumps of his spine.

"Fuck," Jason says in the middle of a second groan, "Dick." I let go of his hair, reaching back and digging down into my suit to find one of my small, adhesive trackers. I curl my fingers around it, reaching back up and replacing my mouth with the tracker as I pull away. His head snaps up, eyes narrowed and disbelieving. "I— Did you just—?"

He lets go of my arm and reaches back, fingers exploring the small, jagged black tracker stuck to the back of his neck. He can't see it, but I know and so does he that it's pulsing a soft blue light in the center of it.

"Pick somewhere," I tell him, as he gives an amused but still kind of disbelieving snort. "I'll be there when I can." The roar of the engine is louder, echoing off the Cave's walls, but I pull him down by the grip I have at the back of his jacket when he starts to rise. "Jason," now he's really paying attention, "I don't do casual."

It's an admission I probably shouldn't have made, if the startled widening of his eyes is anything to judge by, but he swallows and nods after a moment. "I don't play with people I don't trust," is what he comes back with. "And nothing with you could ever be casual, Dick, even if it's not official." Not totally what I meant, but then the engine cuts out and he spits out, "Fuck," and jerks up and away. "I need my helmet or B's gonna see everything."

He heads for it, and I lean back down and settle myself on the cot. I raise my right arm, hooking it back behind my head to wait for the inevitable descent of family. Jason reclaims his seat, helmet sealing into place, and he tugs his jacket all the way back up and forcibly relaxes back, like nothing ever happened.

Except now I know that all those ideas I had about a dominant, aggressive Jason weren't right, and they're starting to get replaced with ideas about a pliant one instead. One that I can wrap around my fingers, pull to his knees, and tell to stay there, and he will. Oh, we're going to need to have a talk about what he's into.

A long talk.