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With a cigarette lit, Arthur Fleck takes a drag as his back hit the mattress. He laid there— wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and white socks with blue stripes around the ankles— looking up at the ceiling, mind clouded with negative thoughts. Always. Always, negative thoughts. The numbness was the only thing he could physically feel and even that was draining.
Drifting between reality and fantasy, Arthur questions if he was even here. Was the taste of the menthol on his lips even real? Or was it all in his head and nothing existed.
Arthur couldn't tell and he didn't know if he cared to know the difference. Life was a fucking joke and he was the fucking punchline.
It wasn't planned, he didn't notice that it was happening, but Arthur's right hand slid over his narrow chest. It passes his flat, empty, belly— he hasn’t eaten in days— and straight to the trimming of his white briefs. Though they were old and a little bit damaged, the fabric was soft and tingled against his fingertips as he started a moderate rubbing motion over his crotch. He lets out a sigh before taking another hit from the cigarette while his hand slowly closed around his cock.
He squeezed himself hard. The pain was pleasant and the sensation forced Arthur out of his head to take notice of what he was actually doing.
It felt good. Finally, something happening to him truly felt good.
Blowing out the smoke, Arthur slipped his jittery hand inside the briefs and clutched himself before gently playing with his cock. He wasn't leaking yet, but he will work up to it. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift, but where would it go? He had no control over that.
His breathing gradually became uneven as a familiar heat rose deep within his core. It was nothing new, but he hasn't felt it in such a long time. He’d almost forgotten the sensation.
Though his mother isn't home, Arthur is used to masturbating without moaning any louder than a hush. "Ughn," he grunted quietly, biting his bottom lip as he circled the finger around the head of his sex, shaky legs now spreading wider. He takes another drag from his cigarette which now seemed to be burning faster than he could smoke and thrusts against his hand.
His skin, which was still healing from the bruises, flashed a vivid shade of pink, every inch of his body flooded with warmth as he touched his slit which was now nice and wet. Faster, each stroke was more than the last.
The sexual fantasy flashing in Arthur's mind was only generic and wasn’t as clear as the violent ones that he's desperately trying to push back. However, they manage to leak through. They always leak through whenever he tries to catch a ride to a little peaceful bliss.
"Fuck," Arthur hissed.
He had started this and he wasn't going to stop. Not even when the random thought of his mother watching The Murray Franklin Show— which flickered behind closed eyelids for a millisecond— was going to get in the way of him coming. Not tonight. Not like the last time.
"F-fuck," he groaned through gritted teeth, shaking the images out of his mind. The cherry of his cigarette falls to the itchy bedding, burning a small hole before lighting out.
The friction in his underwear grows more intense and Arthur's body reacts, quivering to the sensual touch of his own hand. He shifts in the bed, finding the right angle that will send him spilling over. The hand, dripping wet with slick, works against his swollen cock faster, harder, drawing outcries of laughter. He couldn't control it, he almost never could. As his eyes filled with tears, the laughing didn't stop and neither did his hand.
Caught in a loop of manic laughter and feral moaning, Arthur stirs again, shivering as sweat misted on his brow. He rediscovers the sweet spot that makes his cock throb and he stroked it vigorously.
Inundated with emotion, physical pain and pleasure, Arthur doesn't hold back as he groaned laughing out loud. His body shivered and his hand traveled lower, slowly fingering at his opening. He doesn’t slide inside himself, but he rolls his hips with the rhythm of the tantalizing circles around the brim of sensitive nerves.
“Oh, sh-shit!... HAHAHAHAHA!”
Feeling his body tighten, building up to the climax, Arthur moves his hand back to his pulsing cock.
With tears of laughter staining his face, Arthur’s toes curl and he arched his back— forcing the back of his head into the flat pillows under him— as the surge of relief suddenly engulfed him, squirting his cum into damp underwear.
Arthur laid there on his back, breathing heavily with a finger still lazily circling around his cock. Even in the afterglow, he stares up at the ceiling, feeling as though the walls are closing in around him. How could he feel more suffocated now than before? He should feel free, riding the high of dopamine, but numbness overshadowed him away.
He flicked the butt of the cigarette to the floor and pulled his sticky hand out of his briefs. He sat up on the edge of the bed and sighed before standing. With his clean hand, Arthur picked up his pack of smokes and a lighter from the bedside table, then shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself up.