The Joker stood in the middle of the highway, staring unblinkingly at the man in black on the motorcycle speeding directly toward him. He strode purposely forward as he gunned the driver of an incoming car, focused solely on the caped man racing toward him. Barely audible, he muttered seemingly to himself, "C'mon, c'mon, I wantcha to do it, I wantcha to do it…."
With the caped figure drawing nearer, the Joker's repeated mantra grew both in intensity and in volume, the light from the streetlamps playing wickedly off the smile permanently etched across his face. His slow saunter forward came to a sudden stop, and his eyes darkened behind their mask of tinted-midnight. His whole head twitched with the force of each word as once again he growled, "C'mon c'mon, I want you to do it, I want you to do it. C'mon, hit me."
As if in response to the strange demand of his double, the Batman leaned in closer to his motorcycle, increasing the speed at which he sped toward his enemy. Each man's breath quickened, and static-like tension seemed to course through the air, making the hair on Batman's scalp tingle and the Joker's fingers twitch with anticipation.
This was all an experiment, you see. The Joker desired to test the limits of the hero's morals, to learn more about the mysterious vigilante. If Batman ran him over, it would prove that Batman and the Joker were more similar than different; that they possessed the same cold and calculating nature that allowed them to kill in order to solve problems. This, thought the Joker, would be ideal, assuming he survived the collision. If, however, Batman saved the Joker, it would prove that the hero was truly incorruptible; that, as a man of passion and righteousness, he would not take a life – not even a life that the world would be infinitely better off without.
Sudden doubt creeping into his mind, the Joker's eyes flashed dangerously, his whole body tense as he yelled, "Hit me, c'mon, hit me!"
Despite his desire to kill the clown, to make him atone for the countless sins he'd committed, Batman knew that as defender of right, he could not take this man's life. Sensing his own weakness, Batman roared in frustration, a frighteningly feral noise.
"No way," thought the Joker, "He'll do it. No one is incorruptible… C'mon, goddamnit!"
"HIT ME!"
It was an automatic reaction. "No!" Batman thought, and veered dangerously to the right in order to dodge the man planted firmly in the middle of the road. The Joker turned slowly around just in time to see the Batman crash into his totaled eighteen-wheeler at a speed of over ninety miles per hour. Jarred from the impact, Batman fell off his motorcycle and flopped limply to the ground.
"Well, whaddaya know, Batty chickened!" The Joker shrugged and skipped over toward the body of his rival, humming while he did, his expensive Italian shoes (courtesy of the mob via robbed money) scuffing against the asphalt. Shooting his henchmen, he hopped onto the Batman, pinning him against the wet ground. Deftly brandishing a knife from a hidden fold in his vividly purple trench coat, the Joker leaned forward and rested the tip of the blade at the corner of the Batman's mouth, his other hand cradling the man's head. Batman, who was now very much awake and alert, shivered at the clown's close proximity and attempted to shake him off, but his crash earlier had weakened him, and, for now, he was at the mercy of the Joker. He growled in irritation, the fiercely wild guttural noise seeming to rip from his throat.
"Hmmm, shhh now," the Joker panted, twitchily stroking the masked face below him in what appeared to be a twisted effort to get the masked man to relax. Licking his crimson-painted lips, the Joker leaned in and inquired in a soft, nasal voice, "…Wanna know how I got these scars? I haven't told you yet."
At these words, Batman stopped struggling to free himself (with the Joker's full weight situated firmly upon the hero's stomach, there was no way he was going anywhere, anyway). He recognized the words that the clown had uttered to Rachel a few days prior at the party the Joker had crashed, wondering what significance the mutilation held for the Joker. Staring up at the scars that made up the grotesque smile, Batman wondered at their history. "Like he'll tell me the truth, anyway."
Taking the bat's silence as permission to go on, the Joker learned in still further, sliding down Batman's body and pressing his violet chest against the Batman's armored torso. The Joker noticed with satisfaction how the hero's pulse doubled at the strangely intimate contact, and used his momentary confusion as an opportunity to slide the blade of his knife into the vigilante's mouth, applying slight pressure. As Batman's eyes narrowed in loathing, the Joker spoke: "See, I grew up in… a small town, y'know, in the South. People aren't too understanding of deviants there, as I'm sure you've heard."
Batman sensed rather than felt the Joker's grip on the knife tense and noticed the nervous lick of crimson lips barely inches from his own.
"So y'see, I had this friend of mine, a roommate, guy about my age, and we knew each other really well. We were opposites, he always smiled and I never did, and he was always telling me to stop being so serious all the time and just smile for god's sake… kinda like me and you, Batty, except now the roles are all switched up!" Bizarre laughter followed this phrase, the Joker's chest heaving on top of Batman's. After a second or so the giggles subsided, and the Joker resumed his narrative in calmer tones. "So anyway, one day we found out that we liked each other in ways that aren't… natural."
Through his shock, confusion, and disbelief, Batman suddenly became acutely aware of the Joker's hips pressing against his own.
"I was all for it, for us, as you can imagine, but my little friend, well, he was so stereotypical and just ashamed of what he was that one day, I arrived home to find him hanging from the living room rafters."
For a split-second, both men were absolutely still, breaths held, hearts temporarily stopped, eyes staring into eyes, one pair a shocked blue, the other a demented brown.
The stroking of the Batman's face resumed as the Joker stared, fascinated, at the soft skin that formed the corner of the Batman's soft, pink mouth, pressing the tip of his knife against it. "As I stood there (devastated, naturally), all I could hear was my friend's voice, asking me over and over to smile for just one goddamn minute! I figured I should try to make him happy, him being all sad and cold, swinging from the rafters. So I went to the hallway mirror, stuck a razor in my mouth, and did this" –here he gestured with his tongue to the horrible scars that dominated his face– "all to make him happy. And d'ya know what?" Here a spark of hysteria flashed in the clown's chocolate brown eyes, though his voice stayed constantly level. "Now I'm always smiling, every minute, all the time! And know what else? I'm not so serious anymore, either." Delighted laughter followed this revelation, and the Joker's shaking body caused the knife to slip up just enough to make a tiny cut in the corner of Batman's mouth.
The laughter stopped at the sight of the hero's blood, and the Joker's gaze intensified a hundredfold. Batman squirmed uncomfortably under the smaller man's fervent stare, and had to strain to hear the Joker's next words. "Y'know, Batty, you remind me of my friend a lot…" And suddenly, the knife was removed from the vigilante's face and was replaced by the Joker's mouth, capturing Batman's lips and forcing him into a bruising violent kiss. The Joker's body strained against the hero, pressing their stomachs and groins together.
Batman, who had been shocked into submission, was jolted suddenly to reality when he felt the hard excitement of the smaller man pressing into his inner thigh. His body responded to the clown without heeding the warnings from his brain telling him that what was transpiring was sick and twisted.
The Joker moaned upon feeling Batman's arousal, rubbing their two erections together through the many layers of clothing that the two each wore. Pulling up suddenly, the Joker placed his hands on either side of the Batman's head, panting heavily. Then gently, almost lovingly, he brought his knife back up to the hero's mouth. Through his arousal-induced haze, Batman observed how the blood from his cut had stained the Joker's mouth an even deeper red, glistening threateningly in the light of the streetlamps. With one hand steadying the Batman's chin and the other grasping the wickedly sharp knife pressing into his mouth, the Joker steadied himself. Batman struggled to get up, to free himself, anything to get away from the psychotic clown.
The Joker observed these feeble attempts at freedom and frowned slightly, the action causing his permanent smile to distort grotesquely. Steadying the knife, the Joker leaned in, and playfully inquired, "Why so serious, Batty?" The Joker took a deep breath, clenched his knife….
… and was pulled off of Batman by Commissioner Gordon and flung unceremoniously to the ground. The Commissioner's face was slightly green-tinged as he pointed his machine gun straight at the Joker's head.
"Gah!" the Joker exclaimed, gesturing desperately with his knife toward the masked vigilante's face, "Can you please just give me a minute?" The Commissioner wasted no time kicking away the clown's knife and slapping a pair of handcuffs on the criminal, loading him into a vehicle headed straight for Arkham. The Joker's infamous grin contorted into a smirk as he mused, "Incorruptible, huh?"
Turning around, Commissioner Gordon found the Batman, sitting in the middle of the highway, knees drawn up to his chest and with his head in his hands. Cautiously, the Commissioner walked up to the masked man. Batman looked up and said, "If the stories he's told are true, Gordon, than how can we blame him for being the way he is?"
The Commissioner followed the armored vehicle transporting the Joker to the prison with his steady gaze until it faded into the distance, unable to understand, unable to sympathize, and unable to answer.