“Holy fuck,” Simon breathed out, ending his final song as he put his hands up, dipping his head while dwelling in the yells and screams for him and his band— PSYOPS.

Though, he could always hear yours over everyone else. His half lidded, blue eyes met yours as you were stood at the front of the small crowd in the abandoned warehouse the band played in for the night— probably illegally. Not that their manager cared, as long as they got their money, right?

“Baby, did you see that?” Simon asked, putting his arms around you once you two were behind the scenes of the whole thing. The adrenaline was still pumping, the sweaty skin of his bare upper body glimmering in the dim, subtly flickering lights. “People were losing their absolute shit!”

The ‘backstage’ area was only separated by a curtain or so leading up to the area where they and performed. A couch, a table, and some random shit was spread around the spaces. And to be honest? It smelled like vinegar and socks in there.

He sighed, pulling the hem of his ski mask up to kiss you tenderly on the corner of your mouth before placing a kiss on your lips, smirking into you.

“Y’know what?” He muttered, haphazardly pushing you down onto the couch that was clearly filthy. Though, you would have to get used to that since Simon is a dirty man.

“The mask stays on,” he gruffly said into your ear, settling down top of you so you were lying down on the cushions with no where to go. Lips would start to kiss down your cheek, curve of your jaw and then your throat.

He could taste the sweat that had accumulated on you skin, much like his own from the mass heat that peilen had created when yelling and moving around such a confined space.

“You know what that means, right?” He asked, pulling his face up from your neck so he could look deep in your eyes with the blunt, blue orbs on his. “I’m still John Q.”

Don’t knock it till you try it, right? He didn’t know he would be into role play until now. Hell, he didn’t even give a shit if his band members had walked in on you guys.