In The Company Of Glamour Words (Joe Jonas/Indio Downey, PG13)
Long story long: here are a couple shots of Robert Downey, Jr. talking with the Jonas Brothers. And so soon after drusilla27 suggested in a comment that Joe Jonas/RDJ was a good idea! I could get into into Joe Jonas/RDJ quicker than something happening with Mel Gibson any day. Still, wearemany pointed out that the fact that RDJ's son being a year younger than Nick would probably make things awkward, and then (after a tangent where I got to see pictures of Indio Downey, because I didn't know what he looked like) it was suggested that something slightly different might happen, and boom. I KNOW THIS IS RANDOM.
In The Company Of Glamour Words
by Charli J
6,800 words. PG13. Joe Jonas/Indio Downey, Joe Jonas+Robert Downey Jr intimations.
Why, yes, he let Iron Man's cute son sleep in his bed last night after bombing with Tony Stark. That happened.
Warning: Underage shenanigans.
Many thanks to wearemany for talking to me about RDJ's crazy and asking the right questions. And much appreciation to insunshine for pointing out when I sound like an idiot. moneyfolder loled via text message. Remaining errors are all my fault.
;;
When a Grammy party sets the scene for a first encounter with someone, it just makes sense to assume that they're part of the business. Whether an artist, publicist, manager, instrumentalist, journalist -- it's usually somebody involved in the same line of work, or they're at least going to pretend they are. Even Joe knows that that's the way it works, although he hasn't gotten so used to the chaos that he's stopped introducing himself to people when they bump into him: a firm handshake, first name, and last name.
He's savvy enough to have stopped expecting all of those in return, though. Indio had said his first name and that he was in a band, and Joe nodded, saying, "Oh, that's cool," but he hadn't recognized him from anywhere. He'd been kind of distracted and embarrassed when he came across Indio, honestly, shaking his shoe a little more, like that was going to somehow make them magically not ruined by the diet coke he'd spilled.
The thing is, he hadn't even been realizing what he was doing, laughing openly and smiling with everybody. Joe thought he'd spent the night being personable and friendly with everyone equally, so when Robert had said, "I feel like I'm having reverse flashbacks. Me in the '80s and Silver saying, 'Oh, you're kind of a leaner, huh?' I know, you're thinking, 'fucking Joel?' but I was 19. It's cute from the other side."
Then he winked.
Joe was mostly caught off guard because he'd noticed, right that second, that he kind of was at a forty-five degree angle, almost. It was like he was auditioning to be in "Smooth Criminal" or something, which was freaking ridiculous, and, whoa, where was Nick? Where was anybody, suddenly, to help him out of awkwardly stepping back from Robert Downey, Jr. and how he'd said, "So, yeah, I'll be in Los Angeles for the next few months. Pretty stationary," and probably sounded ridiculous? Nowhere. He was alone, and he'd been called out, and the Diet Coke had kind of leapt from his hand at that point. All Joe could think about was finding an exit and being thankful that he hadn't worn Kevin's second pair of shoes after all.
He'd met Indio, and they'd gotten along really well, and Joe thought, hey, the great thing about not living at home and having two roommates is that sometimes he can invite people back to play videos games.
Joe's newest favorite video game is called Making Out In My Bedroom, and Indio proved to be really, really great at two-player. It turned out to be a night salvaged thanks to a new Grammy party friend, but this morning Joe's sort of glad they hadn't gotten around to the high score, because he drops Indio at home, and in the middle of wondering how some band guy he doesn't even recognize could swing such a nice place, Joe spots a guy standing out front with a coffee mug, wearing a leopard print Snuggie backwards.
"Is this your roommate?" Joe asks, because he's not about to ask the obvious question. That would be terrifying.
However, Indio gives him the obvious answer anyway, saying, "Oh, my dad."
Joe must be experiencing stress paralysis or something. He doesn't even know if that's a real condition, but his palms have already started to sweat, and he can't move. He's holding onto the steering wheel so, so tightly, and then Robert -- the Robert Downey, Jr. who watched Joe sputter and spill soda on his shoes in a way that had been completely unlike him, really, honestly -- comes over to the car with no slippers on as Indio starts to get out.
The worst part is that Joe has morals and knows how to be polite, so he can't not get out of the car, too, and then look at Robert over the hood as he's saying, "Where's your phone? I was going to call it."
Indio asks, "What are you wearing?"
Robert does this shoulder roll, moving his jaw to the side and then humming. He says, "Late night TV. It's soft. There was a two-for-one deal."
"For Susan?" Indio asks.
"Can you see her in Zebra?" Robert asks and laughs. He drinks from his cup of whatever -- coffee or tea, probably. Joe's eyes are so wide and so focused that he thinks he might be able to see the steam. Joe's also pretty sure if his eyes stay this wide much longer, they'll start watering. "Looks at these sleeves. This huge collar? I feel like a wizard. Where'd you go last night? I was looking up magic tricks." He furrows his brow then. "Oh, yeah, and what the fuck are you doing? I'm upset with you."
Joe knows his moment is coming then, because Indio says, "I couldn't find you. So I just hung out with Joe," and he can hear the echo of things clicking into place when Robert looks to him. Why, yes, he let Iron Man's cute, older son sleep in his bed last night after bombing with Tony Stark. That happened.
"Joe," Robert says, and then gives him an amused smile. His own eyes widen a little as he drinks from his mug again. He repeats himself. "Joe."
"Morning, sir," Joe says. He feels stupid about it. He feels like a twenty-year-old.
"Little Bobby Junior. You make me feel like a I'm seventy instead of sixty."
"You're forty-four," Indio says, turning to grab his jacket from Joe's front seat. He says it casually, like he's used to it, like it's no big deal that any of this is happening at all.
"Which is about halfway to a hundred," Robert says. "Joe, do you like magic? You watch, uh, what is it? That acid trip movie with the British kids. Harry Potter, right? I took Indio to see the first one when he was eight or something."
Joe thinks back to that. In 2001, he was in junior high, he's pretty sure. He was in seventh grade, and that lands heavy against Joe's stomach like a sucker punch. Robert's already proven that he doesn't really have much concern for accurate numbers, so maybe he's wrong about Indio being that young at the time. Maybe Joe doesn't have to amend his thinking about Iron Man's hot older son, because he's not really about four years younger than Joe. Maybe there's been a mistake. Maybe he's not actually even younger than Nick, and Joe doesn't have to feel like the world's biggest loser because he played his favorite video game with Little Bobby Junior's sixteen-year-old the same night he tried to pick up his dad like an amateur.
Joe says, "Oh, I've --" and sort of pauses as he notices that Indio's leaving. He's saying, "I'm gonna go change. This suit is nasty," and Joe thinks, please, God, please, God, don't leave him here alone, and then worries about how sad it is that he needs a high-school junior to be his buffer.
Because, okay. Bob Downey may be wearing a Snuggie, but he's still pretty damn buff.
He clears his throat and immediately starts word vomiting. Joe says, "I never, never meant to, uh. What a small world. You guys have a beautiful, um, beautiful house. Here in Brentwood."
"It isn't my style," Robert says, raising his arm to let one huge sleeve fall back, exposing skin. He chuckles. "Shit, it's exactly my style. I live here, and I love it, but what will people think of me, you know? I have a fucking manicured lawn. That says something unfortunate about a lot of people."
Joe says, "It looks nice," and fidgets.
Shrugging, Robert says, "My wife likes the grass even. It's this pet peeve she has."
"Well, I," Joe tries again, but he doesn't have high hopes for doing this whole small talk thing any better. "It was nice meeting you. I have to --"
"Nice watch," Robert interrupts. "I think I said that to you already though. I told you I had one like it, didn't I? Fake, though. Lost it last year, because the clasp broke. Had it in my pocket, this stupid, chunky thing. Fell out, and it turns out that I then run over it with my stupid, chunky car. I -- after something like that, you just start trusting sundials again or something, or you should. I should."
Joe nods, but he's not even sure if he gets it. He says, "Or a smaller watch this time?"
And that makes Robert laugh. He says, "Oh, yeah," and points at Joe. "Sorry, I get distracted and -- fuck, look. Look, you're funny, and you can relax, because I'm not going to ask you if you fucked my kid."
"Wow," Joe says, and he shakes his head.
Robert says, "I'm just thinking. You're probably not a bad kid. You brought him home, and, frankly, some of us ended up doing a lot of cocaine in the 90s; I won't name names. As long as he can look me in the eye, you know?" He gestures to Joe with his mug. "But you've -- let me tell you. The two-timing thing? Not as glamorous. Doesn't work out, ever. I know."
Joe looks down at his hand and remembers his ring. He says, "Oh, I'm not. This isn't that kind of situation. My brother just got married, but I'm not."
He realizes belatedly that he's not entirely sure whether Robert, whether Bobby, means his own ring or Joe's. It also then hits Joe that he obliviously tried to hit on a married man last night. This Monday morning sucks. It's probably the worst Monday morning he's had in recent history, because he's about 80% sure he felt up someone illegally, and it turns out that Bobby Junior is also completely nuts.
Robert says, "So, what is this, some kind -- oh, oh. It's a religious thing."
Joe says, "It's a personal thing."
They've grown accustomed to saying that to everybody, because it's easier than trying to explain themselves to people whom usually don't care to get it in the first place.
Robert nods, pouting. He says, "Then I definitely don't have anything to ask you now, huh?" and laughs with his head tipped to the side. "Fucking hell, you're adorable. You remind me of me." He pauses for a moment, sorting of grunting and rethinking. "I mean that in the good way."
"Thanks," Joe says. He's pretty sure that's the right answer.
"Look," Robert says, and then turns his head when Indio pokes his head outside again and calls his name.
Indio says, "Hey, where's the other one? It's not in the living room or anything?"
"Check the bedroom," Robert says. "There's the laptop and everything. I swear I had a whole project going."
"Right," Indio says, lingering. He raises his hand. "Later, Joe."
"Yeah," Joe says, trying to wave too. It's more of a loose flip of his arm though, abortive and pathetic.
Robert says, "Call him," to Indio, and then looks back to Joe. "Is that -- that still goes on with you, right? Or is it -- no, text him!"
"We just played video games," Joe says, lamely.
"Mm," Robert says and shrugs. "Well, that's wholesome, isn't it? Nothing wrong with doing that a few times a week."
---
Surprisingly, Indio does contact him again. He calls Joe and says, "Are you filming today?"
Joe says, "Wait. You want come hang out?"
"Is that not cool?" Indio asks, sounding wary.
"No, that's -- that's fine." Joe just isn't expecting it, after everything. "Come by. We're on set, yeah, but I'll text you the address."
"Alright. I'll be there in maybe an hour."
"Sure," Joe says, and he still can't believe that Indio even bothers.
He tells Kevin about it when he puts his phone away and goes back to catering to get more food.
"The young guy?" Kevin asks.
"He's, like, way taller than me, though," Joe says.
"That's not the same," Kevin says, as if Joe asked him to make sense. "You usually hang out with older people, don't you?"
Joe says, "Whatever. It's just hanging out. I'm not gonna hook up with him or anything."
---
So, they hook up again.
It's about a week after the first time, and Joe places his hands on Indio's hips, moves down to his ass, then comes back up quicker than he was planning. Joe hasn't actually made out with that many guys, because he hasn't really been willing to think too hard about what it means for the ring on his hand, whether the fact that he's kissing dudes is someone immediately more problematic than girls. Because the thing is, he doesn't think that makes any sense, since kissing is kissing, and he's still treating ladies likes ladies and behaving like a gentlemen, just like he promised. He even lets Indio lie on top, which is probably as gentlemanly as he gets.
Joe doesn't really know how his mother would feel about that being the most gentlemanly thing about him.
He pulls back from Indio and says, "Wait. How come you didn't tell me who your dad was?"
Indio stares at Joe blankly, and then twists his mouth up. "That's what's on your mind?"
"I'm just saying," Joe says. "You didn't even tell me your last name."
Indio rolls his eyes. He says, "People either get weirded out by him, or they care too much."
"Weirded out?" Joe says. The laugh that comes out feels sort of braying. "No -- no way."
"Shut up," Indio says. "Can we not talk about my dad?"
Joe nods quickly, feeling a little overeager. He says, "Yeah. Yeah, sure," and wonders if he should tell Indio about how he tried to flirt with his father.
No, that might be uncomfortable. That's probably something Joe should keep to himself, he decides, and closes his eyes when Indio ducks in again.
---
At the very least, Joe should properly apologize to Robert or something. He comes by the house in Brentwood to pick up Indio, although Joe hasn't even fully grasped why that's necessary. Indio has a driver's license, but there's something about how if they're going to end up together anyway, Joe should pick him up, because Indio's license is still provisional and his dad sticks to the guidelines of that pretty tough. "It's like a rule about driver's who start at 15, 16 only driving themselves," Indio had said, which was cruel, because Joe likes to not think about that part of Indio's reality quite so regularly, but hey, apparently nobody cares what Joe wants. Indio just likes to rub his age in Joe's face and create new, even more uncomfortable opportunities for him to have to stand around with Robert awkwardly.
Waiting in their living room, Joe decides to take the opportunity to sort some things out. He says, "Look, Robert -- Mr. Downey," and clears his throat.
"Pause, whoa, hold on," Robert says. He shakes his head, and he seems genuinely disappointed. "What are we doing here, Joe? We can't form a real relationship if you refuse to listen to my needs."
"I'm sorry?" Joe says, raising his eyebrows.
"It's Bobby," Robert says. He motions to the negative space between them. "What we have -- you and I? Indio? It's Bobby, really."
What they have. Joe's sort of tempted to point out that he and Indio don't have too much of anything just yet, paying attention to the way Robert's collar lies flat as he's bent in conspiratorially. It's amazing what dressing in normal clothes again can do for a person. But something tells Joe that that isn't what Robert means about forming a relationship.
"Bobby," Joe says.
Robert nods, touching his hand to Joe's arm. He says, "Doesn't that just feel better? I like the way it rolls off your tongue, too. Oh, say it again, Joe."
Joe presses his lips together, thinking, no. No way. He will not give in to doing anything with his mouth at all. Then Robert squeezes his shoulder a little, and Joe says, "Bobby?"
"Ugh," Robert says. "Beautiful. Memorize that."
"Leave him alone," Indio says, showing up just in time -- finally. Joe didn't think making people wait was something that happened in real life, and he definitely didn't think it happened with boys.
"Hi!" Joe says, way too loudly. He moves to stand in front of Indio, fixing his collar for no reason. "Arcade?"
Indio takes a moment, cluing in belatedly. "Ah. Yeah, for sure."
"Have fun," Robert says behind them. "Wear your seatbelt, use your turn signals, and don't, uh, flip off any cops for fun."
Joe spins around, startled, but Indio simply tugs him along and says, "Got it!"
---
The fun thing about hanging out with Indio, Joe learns, is that when he meets Indio's band mates, he gets to be the cool, older musician in Indio's life. While they're driving over to Lia's, Joe's worried about figuring out how in the world to behave in a room full of teenagers who don't already love him -- "Although you're not even that much older, and you have younger brothers," Indio points out -- but it turns out to be fine.
They play some songs while Joe sits around and drinks Coca-cola from a real bottle. The four of them have been practicing long enough that they sound really solid, and Joe says, "Man, this is awesome. Nick would probably want us to produce something of yours."
He feels so cool. He has to take another swig from his soda bottle, he feels so cool, and then Jasper says, "Don't you just do Disney stuff?"
Joe says, "Ouch," and thinks, well, Jasper's lucky Joe's not the kind of guy who'll stoop to reminding everybody of his resume. "We do a lot of stuff."
"They've produced for other people," Indio says. "Sounds pretty good."
Lia says, "We've been trying to get our parents to cave and help us put together our own space. I mean, we have some stuff, but not everything."
"They won't help?" Joe asks.
"Something about delayed gratification," Indio says. "Earning things. You heard my dad talking about my haircuts, man. He's kind of strange about his battles."
That's really not the only thing that makes Robert kind of strange. Joe has sort of started keeping a mental pro/con list. Pro: he's got to be the most suave dad in all of Hollywood or all of ever, Joe's still taking a census to confirm. Con: he has a collection of caricatures of himself that he calls his headshots and sometimes talks about things that happened in the 1920s like they're events he was present for. He's, like, fascinating. And insane. Fascinatingly insane. He has great hair though.
Instead of asking Indio what it's like to grow up with someone who thinks manicured lawns count as a personality flaw, Joe says, "Well, what kind of stuff don't you have? Nick might have some stuff he could part with."
Indio sort of smiles in a way that takes up his face, and Joe tries not to think about family resemblances too much.
---
Kevin says, "So, you're seeing this guy. But you have a crush on his dad?"
Nick says, "That's nasty."
Joe says, "I don't have a crush on his dad. His dad just happens to be Robert Downey, Jr. The whole return to stardom thing is, like. Plus he has all of this random knowledge about astronomy."
"You're into people who are into stars?" Kevin asks, both him and Nick looking at Joe like he's grown a third arm out of his throat.
"I mean, he's interesting," Joe says. "That's all."
"I didn't even know you were dating, uh, Indio," Nick says, rolling up the script in his hands and tapping it against his knees.
Joe doesn't actually know. He feels like calling it dating is unfair, since mostly what they do is make out and then sometimes Indio plays Joe songs, or he talks about how difficult it is to be in high school. Indio leads an amazingly normal life outside of the famous father who went to rehab and everybody knowing about it thing.
"We just like each other's company," Joe says, primly.
Kevin says, "Do you think Dad would flip out? About his parents?"
Joe doesn't want to think about parents' reactions to any of it. Not even Robert knows specifically what kind of games Joe likes to play, he doesn't think.
He says, "Indio was like a boy scout or something, anyway. I don't know. He's fine. His parents are fine."
"You said he had a band, right?" Nick asks. "Well. He's never jammed with us."
He's only been around Joe's brothers once or twice, surprisingly, but then again, Nick starts to play guitar with everyone even remotely musically inclined within the first hour of meeting them.
"He plays guitar pretty well," Joe says.
"Cool," Nick says, and then looks away for a minute, out at nothing. When he comes back, he thwaps at the arm of Joe's chair. "It's still nasty that you're into his dad."
"I'm not!" Joe insists.
"Okay, okay, we believe you," Kevin says, holding up his hands.
Nick laughs, getting up and mumbling something about more Diet Coke. Joe doesn't really get what's so funny.
He makes fart noises with his mouth at Nick as he goes, then pulls out his phone to text Indio about comic books.
---
Really, though, it isn't his fault that Robert is so captivating. Joe even ends up spending an evening in the Downey's backyard after filming. He lies in some ridiculous star shape with Indio, Robert, and Susan until she says she has some work to finish before the end of the night. So it's the three of them pinwheeled on the ground and looking at what few visible stars exist in an LA sky, and Robert talks about how he wants a planetarium of his own sometimes, and Joe wonders how anyone can be this excellent.
"You can always put those glowing stickers on your bedroom ceiling," Joe says.
Robert laughs. He says, "That's -- that's true. Is Michael's still in business?"
Joe thinks that he would love nothing more right now in this moment than to engage in an arts and crafts project with Bobby Junior. He rolls over on his side, and he says to Indio, "Is he serious?"
"Sometimes," Indio says, looking up from where he lies. Joe sort of wants to kiss him. He also sort of wants to flop out on the grass again and let Robert tell him some more about Orion's belt really being a metaphor for Orion's penis, because that was hilarious.
"Wait, tell me," Robert says, and he holds up a hand, making a ring with his thumb and forefinger as he looks upward. "You guys spend a lot of time together, these days. Lately. How do you feel about Guitar Hero? Do you play that one?"
Indio laughs then, and Joe swallows twice. Joe says, "Well..."
"It's another thing Dad here can't get behind," Indio says, cutting in.
Robert says, "Am I right, though? Or am I crazy?"
"Umm," Joe says.
"You play instruments; you get it," Robert says. "Learn how to play 'Sweet Home Alabama' for real instead of how to push buttons on a controller. Right?"
His fingers brush Joe's arm when he says that, the tips touching his skin and holding steady for a few confusing, amazing moments.
Joe says, "I don't play music games ever. I practice guitar every day."
---
So after a couple months, Joe has made out with Indio a few times, and he's used to stopping by the house to pick him up, and it's awesome. Indio even convinces Joe to make out with him in the car once, settling over Joe's lap and working his hips, trying to find friction. Joe touches his sides, hands under the shirt and rocking up against him, and it's awkward but perfect how Indio isn't afraid to bite his lip a little and try to make things interesting.
"You," Joe says, "are wow."
Indio chuckles against his mouth. He doesn't stop, which is probably the best part, and then after they've had enough for the evening, Joe takes Indio home, and Robert and Susan make breakfast crepes at eleven o'clock at night.
"Some people think powdered sugar is excessive, but I like a little flair," Robert says, sprinkling liberally with a twist in his arm that seems practiced.
"Delicious," Joe says. He's going to have to get Kevin to learn how to make this, and then invite him over. "Just. Wow."
He bumps his knee against Indio's, and Indio rolls his eyes at Joe, but when Joe persists, he coaxes a half-smile out of him.
Joe's life is fantastic. He feels so great about this situation.
---
He feels great until Indio sits with him behind the JONAS soundstage one day, and Joe asks if Robert wants more of the brownies Joe and his roommates baked but doesn't get a simple confirmation. Instead, Indio says, "I'm not sure if I'm up for this."
Joe thinks, oh, God, is this high school student breaking up with him? He says, "Are you breaking up with me?"
Indio's wearing jeans and a t-shirt with simple sneakers. He's always about three-times less dressed up than Joe, somehow, even if they're wearing the same things. Indio, at least, doesn't actually own a flatiron, Joe thinks. He likes that about him. Joe remembers when he bought his first flatiron. He also remembers the first time he decided to flat-iron his hair and feather it for no reason other than not being able to sleep, because Amelia stopped calling him back.
Dwelling on things makes Joe antsy, and he likes to keep himself busy to prevent talking too much or saying the wrong things in these situations.
Indio says, "It's just kind of weird."
"The Disney thing?" Joe says, looking around. Nobody even cares. "They don't mind. It's not as bad as people assume."
"No, it's the way that, uh," Indio starts. He cracks knuckles then turns his hand over, picking at the calluses on his fingers. "You're really into my dad, dude."
"I'm not," Joe says. "Seriously? We talk about pastries and stencil art."
Indio sighs, dropping his shoulders inward. It still sort of baffles Joe that this guy is taller than him. Indio says, "It's weird already when friends do it -- new people. You're this person I make out with. You can't be into my dad."
A high school student is definitely dumping Joe. What the hell. He doesn't think he deserves this.
He says, "Indio. Come on. I like hanging out with you."
It's true. One hundred percent fact. Joe enjoys talking about music with Indio, making up random tunes, and then when they play actual video games. Indio is the only other person Joe knows who, like him, still thinks the Zelda franchise is worthwhile. Those kinds of people need to stick together.
Joe says as much, and Indio shakes his head. He says, "You could be describing all the things you like doing with your brother."
"I don't make out with my brother," Joe says. And he really likes that part too. Hell, if Joe had known this was coming so soon, he might've let Indio stick a hand down his pants more than once.
Indio says, "That's one thing."
"I like you," Joe says. "We should keep hanging out. What do you want me to do?"
"You have to break up with my dad, dude," Indio says plainly.
"Done," Joe says.
Fine. He can do that.
---
It proves to be really freaking difficult to break the bad news to Robert, though, when he gets to Brentwood and Robert's making smoothies. Indio declines getting one of his own for the moment and says he's going to take a shower first. He knocks his hand against Joe's arm, catching his eyes before he leaves, and Joe sort of wants to bawl, because then Robert has this assortment of fruits laid out and he's humming Nat King Cole, and Joe feels like he's about to roll over a bunny with a tractor.
Robert says, "It's hard to find good acai berries, so I buy the juice. I don't have the patience like some people. I've got things to do." He rinses the blender pitcher and sets it on the base. "We've got banana, vanilla, soy milk --"
"Bobby," Joe interrupts, droll and forced. "We can't."
Pausing in his preparation, Robert says, "What? You don't like soy?"
"If I drink your smoothies, then Indio will think I like you better," Joe says. He tugs at the cap on his head and shrugs, hoping that he's done his best to communicate a heartfelt, ah, teenagers, what can you do?
"My acai berry does bring all the boys to the yard," Robert says, nodding apologetically. "But Indio understands the value of a good blend."
Joe slides his knuckles over the marble counter, pulling himself up onto one of the barstools. He says, "Hmm. So. It's more that he thinks I have a, uh, crush. On you?"
Robert starts pouring the acai juice into the blender, sets the container down, and then picks up the soymilk. He says, "Ahh," seriously and then counts out loud as he pours. Once it's finished, Robert stares at the blender critically. "Now, that's no good, is it?"
"I guess not."
"Yeah, we just ran out of soy milk," Robert clarifies. "I can't make another batch without it. We'll have to go to the store after." He looks up at Joe, leaning against the counter with his elbows on the surface and his chin in his hands. "Joe, did you fuck my son?"
"What?" Joe says, eyes shooting wide open. "I. You said you wouldn't ask that."
"It's this whole fatherhood shtick," Robert says, coming around the bar and touching Joe's shoulders. He kneads the muscles there. "Among men there's sometimes a code: tit for tat, what's my business is our business is our secret, but with Indio, well. It's a head-trip, let me tell you. Here's the fucking kicker, still, after sixteen years: I'm a parent. And he's my favorite person in the world, so sometimes the rules get chucked out of the window without notice. That's just how it goes, so. Basically, I lied."
Joe doesn't have the presence of mind to really try to pull that apart, so he sticks to what Robert said before and says, "I didn't. I promise."
"But he likes you?" Robert says, unexpectedly concise.
Joe says, "Bobby -- Mr. Downey."
"It's still Bobby, Joe. Relax," Robert says.
"Bobby," Joe says, giving it a second shot. "I like him too."
Robert pats Joe's shoulder and moves around to his side. He says, "See, that's sweet. That, young sir, is what you're supposed to say. I know; I have a lot of experience in what not to say."
Joe scoffs, not particularly convinced that he's somehow made everything right. He says, "I don't know," looking to Robert. "I think he's really kind of mad at me."
"He'll forgive you," Robert says, waving off Joe's concern. He knocks his knee against Joe's in a way Joe has definitely done to Indio before, craning in for secret sharing. "I know that one from experience too."
Joe laughs softly. He says, "He's a really awesome guy."
"Thank you," Robert says. "He doesn't get it from me."
"Are you kidding? You're great."
"Joey, baby, you spoil me." Robert touches his hand to his chest. He moves the hand back to Joe's shoulder, pinching him through the fabric of his shirt. His expression softens even more as he says, "But c'est la vie, mon amour. The sun is setting on you and I."
That makes Joe sit up straighter. Is this for real? Is this happening again?
"Are you dumping me?" he asks, the laugh getting tripped up inside of him. He lets out a really unattractive snort and thinks, yes. Yes, he's being dumped. "Because you were flirting with me?"
Robert rears his head back a little, then seems to suck on the inside of his jaw for a moment, contemplative. Joe doesn't know what's happening in his head, but something about Robert's expression changes. He frowns and then drops the look as quickly as it appears, settling on saying, "It's more that I'm setting you free. Let's say that." He holds up his hands. "Besides, what did I tell you about rings? I have a lot of promises these days. Or people are always promising what they can and won't do, but saying things is easier than -- I mean, me bullshitting came more naturally than drinking water. It's basically all this shit in my pocket, but for some -- for a lot of reasons, you keep patting your pants like you're afraid to drop them."
Joe shakes his head. He says smirks and says, "I never even had a chance."
He'd known that. They'd both known that, probably, but there's still a difference between assuming things at a party and then acknowledging them out loud. He feels the thread of humor in their exchange the same way he feels the weight of it -- 'serious frivolousness' is a way Joe had heard Robert describe himself once, and he thinks he gets that more and more. It's no big deal, if they don't want to make it one, but Indio isn't, actually, a consolation prize.
"I have one really nice watch now. I got it with Susan. But you -- very flattering, though," Robert says, holding out his arms in an exaggerated, showy gesture. "You've got spunk. Pizzazz. All those fun words they use when you're marketable and have a nice smile."
He lowers his arms again, and then leans in and smacks an uneven kiss to the side of Joe's face before reaching across the countertop to grab a banana like it's all part of the act. It feels a lot like a grandma kiss, as much as Robert can do that, cute and non-threatening. He says, more controlled now, "But, really, you're wonderful. I respect this. Stop by all the time." Robert holds out the fruit after he breaks the peel. "Potassium? Trust me, it helps."
"Yeah," Joe says, pulling off the tip, because he's not going to be the guy that turns down Robert. He also doesn't quite feel like bolting from embarrassment, so that's got to be an improvement. "Thanks."
---
When Joe carries two smoothies to Indio's room, he finds Indio fully dressed on his bed and staring at an open textbook. It's completely unfortunate that he's arrived too late for a private look, it seems, but then Indio turns his attention to Joe and says, "Hey," with a small smile. He doesn't seem upset, so that's got to count for something positive.
Joe holds out the glass in his left hand. "For you, young Padawan."
"Is that from Star Wars?" Indio asks, taking the smoothie. "You're into that?"
He moves over on the mattress, and Joe takes the opportunity to sit with him, crossing his legs and tasting his own smoothie. It's delicious.
"I'm almost too young to really care about Star Wars," Joe says. "Right on the cusp. I saw the first episodes before the original releases."
"I definitely don't care about Star Wars."
"Then let's never talk about it again," Joe says. He leans forward to see Indio's book. "And what's this? Biology? Banned. We also never get to talk about this, starting right now."
Joe settles back against the headboard of the bed, drinking and looking around Indio's bedroom. He's been in here before, of course, but it's never been quite like this. Joe has never gotten to hang out in Indio's room while his dad knew for sure that Joe enjoys playing tongue hockey with his son. It's like a milestone, or something. Joe is going to mark it in his calendar at some point, even, just so he doesn't forget. It'll be labeled, The Day I Didn't Get Arrested For Dating Indio Downey.
Indio's content to ditch the schoolbook too, the two of them drink in silence until he asks, "Did you help make these?"
"I just watched," Joe says. He took notes, though. He's going to steal the mixture for him and his roommates.
"So it went well?" Indio asks.
Joe says, "Mmm," swallows and cough. His gums feel kind of cold. "He kissed my cheek."
Indio drops his head back, huffing out a breath. Joe can't tell if it's amusement or exasperation. Either way, Indio says, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a crappy boyfriend, or whatever?"
"Oh," Joe says, dipping his finger into his cup and then licking it. "You'd be surprised. I also don't put out on the first date. Or, the, uh, the eighth one, usually."
"But everything in between is fine?"
"Ha!" Joe points at Indio, drinking more smoothie and then running his tongue over his top lip to get rid of any fruity mustache left behind. "I walked right into that one."
Indio says, "Couldn't resist," and he comes away from his glass with a little smoothie mustache too.
Joe watches him lick his lips, and he thinks, wow. What is this guy even bothering with him for?
He says, "So am I still dumped?" knocking his foot into Indio's leg. "Me and your dad called it quits. He was very bent up about it. I'm a lot of man to lose. I choose you."
"Like I'm a Pokémon."
"I love that you just made that reference," Joe says. He's going to kiss Indio in about thirty seconds for that. Joe turns to the side, draping his leg over Indio's, bumping their feet together. "I'm all adorable and irresistible. I smell nice, come on."
"Dude," Indio says, tilting his chin up and failing to suppress his laugh when Joe tries to tickle his stomach. Joe makes use of the moment by kissing Indio's jaw.
Joe inhales and pulls back abruptly. He stills his hand and he says, "I'm sorry, you know? I try not to be an ass to people. I was kind of dumb about this, about how you maybe felt."
Indio tilts his head to the side, catching Joe's eyes. He says, "Hmm, I think it's cool." He shrugs, pulling his knees up and then straightening them out again. "It sucks competing. I'm just over that."
Joe nods, ducking his head. If Kevin were here, he'd probably hit Joe upside the head for being dense. He has a tendency to do that, to be completely oblivious, and sometimes this is what it takes. Sometimes people just have to rub Joe's nose it, and then he gets it, and once he gets it, he tries to remember that it's important to be on the same page as everyone else
"Sorry. Again," Joe says.
Indio shrugs again, not speaking. His lips stretch some like the beginning of a smile. Joe seizes the opportunity, using his fingers again to coax out a burst of laughter.
"Stop!" Indio says.
Joe says, "Undump me," and presses his fingers down more. "Dude, I'm dying here."
"Okay! Okay," Indio says. "Undumped."
"Yes, thank you, okay," Joe says, pushing ever closer to coax Indio's chin down again, their mouths brushing.
---
Before he goes home, Joe takes a picture of himself and Indio. He sets it as the background on his cell phone, letting Indio watch him do so, because now this is official. This could only be more official if Joe had a Facebook and, thus, could change his relationship status.
As it is, Indio says, "I think I can live without it."
"Are you sure?" Joe asks. "Because I could see if that's possible on our music fan page or something. Although, then people might think you're dating all three of us. It could get awkward, and our fans are... passionate. With blowtorches. They're very passionate about blowtorches and using them to --"
"I get it," Indio says.
Joe makes him laugh, Indio closing his eyes and shifting his head where it lies on Joe's arm. He can already sort of feel the limb going numb, but Joe doesn't really mind yet. It's sort of nice. The fact that Indio even still wants to be there makes Joe feel good about this whole situation.
He doesn't linger after that, because he doesn't want to push Robert and Susan's graciousness. Joe says goodbye on the way out and tries not to think too hard about walking out in a way that makes him look both cool but respectable at the same time, because he's Indio's responsible, older boyfriend now. Joe’s probably a big doofus for wanting to make a good impression this far into it, as if he hasn't been here several times before. It’s still kind of important, though, he thinks, whatever.
He manages not to trip until he's outside, at least. It's all about the small victories.
In The Company Of Glamour Words
by Charli J
6,800 words. PG13. Joe Jonas/Indio Downey, Joe Jonas+Robert Downey Jr intimations.
Why, yes, he let Iron Man's cute son sleep in his bed last night after bombing with Tony Stark. That happened.
Warning: Underage shenanigans.
Many thanks to wearemany for talking to me about RDJ's crazy and asking the right questions. And much appreciation to insunshine for pointing out when I sound like an idiot. moneyfolder loled via text message. Remaining errors are all my fault.
;;
When a Grammy party sets the scene for a first encounter with someone, it just makes sense to assume that they're part of the business. Whether an artist, publicist, manager, instrumentalist, journalist -- it's usually somebody involved in the same line of work, or they're at least going to pretend they are. Even Joe knows that that's the way it works, although he hasn't gotten so used to the chaos that he's stopped introducing himself to people when they bump into him: a firm handshake, first name, and last name.
He's savvy enough to have stopped expecting all of those in return, though. Indio had said his first name and that he was in a band, and Joe nodded, saying, "Oh, that's cool," but he hadn't recognized him from anywhere. He'd been kind of distracted and embarrassed when he came across Indio, honestly, shaking his shoe a little more, like that was going to somehow make them magically not ruined by the diet coke he'd spilled.
The thing is, he hadn't even been realizing what he was doing, laughing openly and smiling with everybody. Joe thought he'd spent the night being personable and friendly with everyone equally, so when Robert had said, "I feel like I'm having reverse flashbacks. Me in the '80s and Silver saying, 'Oh, you're kind of a leaner, huh?' I know, you're thinking, 'fucking Joel?' but I was 19. It's cute from the other side."
Then he winked.
Joe was mostly caught off guard because he'd noticed, right that second, that he kind of was at a forty-five degree angle, almost. It was like he was auditioning to be in "Smooth Criminal" or something, which was freaking ridiculous, and, whoa, where was Nick? Where was anybody, suddenly, to help him out of awkwardly stepping back from Robert Downey, Jr. and how he'd said, "So, yeah, I'll be in Los Angeles for the next few months. Pretty stationary," and probably sounded ridiculous? Nowhere. He was alone, and he'd been called out, and the Diet Coke had kind of leapt from his hand at that point. All Joe could think about was finding an exit and being thankful that he hadn't worn Kevin's second pair of shoes after all.
He'd met Indio, and they'd gotten along really well, and Joe thought, hey, the great thing about not living at home and having two roommates is that sometimes he can invite people back to play videos games.
Joe's newest favorite video game is called Making Out In My Bedroom, and Indio proved to be really, really great at two-player. It turned out to be a night salvaged thanks to a new Grammy party friend, but this morning Joe's sort of glad they hadn't gotten around to the high score, because he drops Indio at home, and in the middle of wondering how some band guy he doesn't even recognize could swing such a nice place, Joe spots a guy standing out front with a coffee mug, wearing a leopard print Snuggie backwards.
"Is this your roommate?" Joe asks, because he's not about to ask the obvious question. That would be terrifying.
However, Indio gives him the obvious answer anyway, saying, "Oh, my dad."
Joe must be experiencing stress paralysis or something. He doesn't even know if that's a real condition, but his palms have already started to sweat, and he can't move. He's holding onto the steering wheel so, so tightly, and then Robert -- the Robert Downey, Jr. who watched Joe sputter and spill soda on his shoes in a way that had been completely unlike him, really, honestly -- comes over to the car with no slippers on as Indio starts to get out.
The worst part is that Joe has morals and knows how to be polite, so he can't not get out of the car, too, and then look at Robert over the hood as he's saying, "Where's your phone? I was going to call it."
Indio asks, "What are you wearing?"
Robert does this shoulder roll, moving his jaw to the side and then humming. He says, "Late night TV. It's soft. There was a two-for-one deal."
"For Susan?" Indio asks.
"Can you see her in Zebra?" Robert asks and laughs. He drinks from his cup of whatever -- coffee or tea, probably. Joe's eyes are so wide and so focused that he thinks he might be able to see the steam. Joe's also pretty sure if his eyes stay this wide much longer, they'll start watering. "Looks at these sleeves. This huge collar? I feel like a wizard. Where'd you go last night? I was looking up magic tricks." He furrows his brow then. "Oh, yeah, and what the fuck are you doing? I'm upset with you."
Joe knows his moment is coming then, because Indio says, "I couldn't find you. So I just hung out with Joe," and he can hear the echo of things clicking into place when Robert looks to him. Why, yes, he let Iron Man's cute, older son sleep in his bed last night after bombing with Tony Stark. That happened.
"Joe," Robert says, and then gives him an amused smile. His own eyes widen a little as he drinks from his mug again. He repeats himself. "Joe."
"Morning, sir," Joe says. He feels stupid about it. He feels like a twenty-year-old.
"Little Bobby Junior. You make me feel like a I'm seventy instead of sixty."
"You're forty-four," Indio says, turning to grab his jacket from Joe's front seat. He says it casually, like he's used to it, like it's no big deal that any of this is happening at all.
"Which is about halfway to a hundred," Robert says. "Joe, do you like magic? You watch, uh, what is it? That acid trip movie with the British kids. Harry Potter, right? I took Indio to see the first one when he was eight or something."
Joe thinks back to that. In 2001, he was in junior high, he's pretty sure. He was in seventh grade, and that lands heavy against Joe's stomach like a sucker punch. Robert's already proven that he doesn't really have much concern for accurate numbers, so maybe he's wrong about Indio being that young at the time. Maybe Joe doesn't have to amend his thinking about Iron Man's hot older son, because he's not really about four years younger than Joe. Maybe there's been a mistake. Maybe he's not actually even younger than Nick, and Joe doesn't have to feel like the world's biggest loser because he played his favorite video game with Little Bobby Junior's sixteen-year-old the same night he tried to pick up his dad like an amateur.
Joe says, "Oh, I've --" and sort of pauses as he notices that Indio's leaving. He's saying, "I'm gonna go change. This suit is nasty," and Joe thinks, please, God, please, God, don't leave him here alone, and then worries about how sad it is that he needs a high-school junior to be his buffer.
Because, okay. Bob Downey may be wearing a Snuggie, but he's still pretty damn buff.
He clears his throat and immediately starts word vomiting. Joe says, "I never, never meant to, uh. What a small world. You guys have a beautiful, um, beautiful house. Here in Brentwood."
"It isn't my style," Robert says, raising his arm to let one huge sleeve fall back, exposing skin. He chuckles. "Shit, it's exactly my style. I live here, and I love it, but what will people think of me, you know? I have a fucking manicured lawn. That says something unfortunate about a lot of people."
Joe says, "It looks nice," and fidgets.
Shrugging, Robert says, "My wife likes the grass even. It's this pet peeve she has."
"Well, I," Joe tries again, but he doesn't have high hopes for doing this whole small talk thing any better. "It was nice meeting you. I have to --"
"Nice watch," Robert interrupts. "I think I said that to you already though. I told you I had one like it, didn't I? Fake, though. Lost it last year, because the clasp broke. Had it in my pocket, this stupid, chunky thing. Fell out, and it turns out that I then run over it with my stupid, chunky car. I -- after something like that, you just start trusting sundials again or something, or you should. I should."
Joe nods, but he's not even sure if he gets it. He says, "Or a smaller watch this time?"
And that makes Robert laugh. He says, "Oh, yeah," and points at Joe. "Sorry, I get distracted and -- fuck, look. Look, you're funny, and you can relax, because I'm not going to ask you if you fucked my kid."
"Wow," Joe says, and he shakes his head.
Robert says, "I'm just thinking. You're probably not a bad kid. You brought him home, and, frankly, some of us ended up doing a lot of cocaine in the 90s; I won't name names. As long as he can look me in the eye, you know?" He gestures to Joe with his mug. "But you've -- let me tell you. The two-timing thing? Not as glamorous. Doesn't work out, ever. I know."
Joe looks down at his hand and remembers his ring. He says, "Oh, I'm not. This isn't that kind of situation. My brother just got married, but I'm not."
He realizes belatedly that he's not entirely sure whether Robert, whether Bobby, means his own ring or Joe's. It also then hits Joe that he obliviously tried to hit on a married man last night. This Monday morning sucks. It's probably the worst Monday morning he's had in recent history, because he's about 80% sure he felt up someone illegally, and it turns out that Bobby Junior is also completely nuts.
Robert says, "So, what is this, some kind -- oh, oh. It's a religious thing."
Joe says, "It's a personal thing."
They've grown accustomed to saying that to everybody, because it's easier than trying to explain themselves to people whom usually don't care to get it in the first place.
Robert nods, pouting. He says, "Then I definitely don't have anything to ask you now, huh?" and laughs with his head tipped to the side. "Fucking hell, you're adorable. You remind me of me." He pauses for a moment, sorting of grunting and rethinking. "I mean that in the good way."
"Thanks," Joe says. He's pretty sure that's the right answer.
"Look," Robert says, and then turns his head when Indio pokes his head outside again and calls his name.
Indio says, "Hey, where's the other one? It's not in the living room or anything?"
"Check the bedroom," Robert says. "There's the laptop and everything. I swear I had a whole project going."
"Right," Indio says, lingering. He raises his hand. "Later, Joe."
"Yeah," Joe says, trying to wave too. It's more of a loose flip of his arm though, abortive and pathetic.
Robert says, "Call him," to Indio, and then looks back to Joe. "Is that -- that still goes on with you, right? Or is it -- no, text him!"
"We just played video games," Joe says, lamely.
"Mm," Robert says and shrugs. "Well, that's wholesome, isn't it? Nothing wrong with doing that a few times a week."
---
Surprisingly, Indio does contact him again. He calls Joe and says, "Are you filming today?"
Joe says, "Wait. You want come hang out?"
"Is that not cool?" Indio asks, sounding wary.
"No, that's -- that's fine." Joe just isn't expecting it, after everything. "Come by. We're on set, yeah, but I'll text you the address."
"Alright. I'll be there in maybe an hour."
"Sure," Joe says, and he still can't believe that Indio even bothers.
He tells Kevin about it when he puts his phone away and goes back to catering to get more food.
"The young guy?" Kevin asks.
"He's, like, way taller than me, though," Joe says.
"That's not the same," Kevin says, as if Joe asked him to make sense. "You usually hang out with older people, don't you?"
Joe says, "Whatever. It's just hanging out. I'm not gonna hook up with him or anything."
---
So, they hook up again.
It's about a week after the first time, and Joe places his hands on Indio's hips, moves down to his ass, then comes back up quicker than he was planning. Joe hasn't actually made out with that many guys, because he hasn't really been willing to think too hard about what it means for the ring on his hand, whether the fact that he's kissing dudes is someone immediately more problematic than girls. Because the thing is, he doesn't think that makes any sense, since kissing is kissing, and he's still treating ladies likes ladies and behaving like a gentlemen, just like he promised. He even lets Indio lie on top, which is probably as gentlemanly as he gets.
Joe doesn't really know how his mother would feel about that being the most gentlemanly thing about him.
He pulls back from Indio and says, "Wait. How come you didn't tell me who your dad was?"
Indio stares at Joe blankly, and then twists his mouth up. "That's what's on your mind?"
"I'm just saying," Joe says. "You didn't even tell me your last name."
Indio rolls his eyes. He says, "People either get weirded out by him, or they care too much."
"Weirded out?" Joe says. The laugh that comes out feels sort of braying. "No -- no way."
"Shut up," Indio says. "Can we not talk about my dad?"
Joe nods quickly, feeling a little overeager. He says, "Yeah. Yeah, sure," and wonders if he should tell Indio about how he tried to flirt with his father.
No, that might be uncomfortable. That's probably something Joe should keep to himself, he decides, and closes his eyes when Indio ducks in again.
---
At the very least, Joe should properly apologize to Robert or something. He comes by the house in Brentwood to pick up Indio, although Joe hasn't even fully grasped why that's necessary. Indio has a driver's license, but there's something about how if they're going to end up together anyway, Joe should pick him up, because Indio's license is still provisional and his dad sticks to the guidelines of that pretty tough. "It's like a rule about driver's who start at 15, 16 only driving themselves," Indio had said, which was cruel, because Joe likes to not think about that part of Indio's reality quite so regularly, but hey, apparently nobody cares what Joe wants. Indio just likes to rub his age in Joe's face and create new, even more uncomfortable opportunities for him to have to stand around with Robert awkwardly.
Waiting in their living room, Joe decides to take the opportunity to sort some things out. He says, "Look, Robert -- Mr. Downey," and clears his throat.
"Pause, whoa, hold on," Robert says. He shakes his head, and he seems genuinely disappointed. "What are we doing here, Joe? We can't form a real relationship if you refuse to listen to my needs."
"I'm sorry?" Joe says, raising his eyebrows.
"It's Bobby," Robert says. He motions to the negative space between them. "What we have -- you and I? Indio? It's Bobby, really."
What they have. Joe's sort of tempted to point out that he and Indio don't have too much of anything just yet, paying attention to the way Robert's collar lies flat as he's bent in conspiratorially. It's amazing what dressing in normal clothes again can do for a person. But something tells Joe that that isn't what Robert means about forming a relationship.
"Bobby," Joe says.
Robert nods, touching his hand to Joe's arm. He says, "Doesn't that just feel better? I like the way it rolls off your tongue, too. Oh, say it again, Joe."
Joe presses his lips together, thinking, no. No way. He will not give in to doing anything with his mouth at all. Then Robert squeezes his shoulder a little, and Joe says, "Bobby?"
"Ugh," Robert says. "Beautiful. Memorize that."
"Leave him alone," Indio says, showing up just in time -- finally. Joe didn't think making people wait was something that happened in real life, and he definitely didn't think it happened with boys.
"Hi!" Joe says, way too loudly. He moves to stand in front of Indio, fixing his collar for no reason. "Arcade?"
Indio takes a moment, cluing in belatedly. "Ah. Yeah, for sure."
"Have fun," Robert says behind them. "Wear your seatbelt, use your turn signals, and don't, uh, flip off any cops for fun."
Joe spins around, startled, but Indio simply tugs him along and says, "Got it!"
---
The fun thing about hanging out with Indio, Joe learns, is that when he meets Indio's band mates, he gets to be the cool, older musician in Indio's life. While they're driving over to Lia's, Joe's worried about figuring out how in the world to behave in a room full of teenagers who don't already love him -- "Although you're not even that much older, and you have younger brothers," Indio points out -- but it turns out to be fine.
They play some songs while Joe sits around and drinks Coca-cola from a real bottle. The four of them have been practicing long enough that they sound really solid, and Joe says, "Man, this is awesome. Nick would probably want us to produce something of yours."
He feels so cool. He has to take another swig from his soda bottle, he feels so cool, and then Jasper says, "Don't you just do Disney stuff?"
Joe says, "Ouch," and thinks, well, Jasper's lucky Joe's not the kind of guy who'll stoop to reminding everybody of his resume. "We do a lot of stuff."
"They've produced for other people," Indio says. "Sounds pretty good."
Lia says, "We've been trying to get our parents to cave and help us put together our own space. I mean, we have some stuff, but not everything."
"They won't help?" Joe asks.
"Something about delayed gratification," Indio says. "Earning things. You heard my dad talking about my haircuts, man. He's kind of strange about his battles."
That's really not the only thing that makes Robert kind of strange. Joe has sort of started keeping a mental pro/con list. Pro: he's got to be the most suave dad in all of Hollywood or all of ever, Joe's still taking a census to confirm. Con: he has a collection of caricatures of himself that he calls his headshots and sometimes talks about things that happened in the 1920s like they're events he was present for. He's, like, fascinating. And insane. Fascinatingly insane. He has great hair though.
Instead of asking Indio what it's like to grow up with someone who thinks manicured lawns count as a personality flaw, Joe says, "Well, what kind of stuff don't you have? Nick might have some stuff he could part with."
Indio sort of smiles in a way that takes up his face, and Joe tries not to think about family resemblances too much.
---
Kevin says, "So, you're seeing this guy. But you have a crush on his dad?"
Nick says, "That's nasty."
Joe says, "I don't have a crush on his dad. His dad just happens to be Robert Downey, Jr. The whole return to stardom thing is, like. Plus he has all of this random knowledge about astronomy."
"You're into people who are into stars?" Kevin asks, both him and Nick looking at Joe like he's grown a third arm out of his throat.
"I mean, he's interesting," Joe says. "That's all."
"I didn't even know you were dating, uh, Indio," Nick says, rolling up the script in his hands and tapping it against his knees.
Joe doesn't actually know. He feels like calling it dating is unfair, since mostly what they do is make out and then sometimes Indio plays Joe songs, or he talks about how difficult it is to be in high school. Indio leads an amazingly normal life outside of the famous father who went to rehab and everybody knowing about it thing.
"We just like each other's company," Joe says, primly.
Kevin says, "Do you think Dad would flip out? About his parents?"
Joe doesn't want to think about parents' reactions to any of it. Not even Robert knows specifically what kind of games Joe likes to play, he doesn't think.
He says, "Indio was like a boy scout or something, anyway. I don't know. He's fine. His parents are fine."
"You said he had a band, right?" Nick asks. "Well. He's never jammed with us."
He's only been around Joe's brothers once or twice, surprisingly, but then again, Nick starts to play guitar with everyone even remotely musically inclined within the first hour of meeting them.
"He plays guitar pretty well," Joe says.
"Cool," Nick says, and then looks away for a minute, out at nothing. When he comes back, he thwaps at the arm of Joe's chair. "It's still nasty that you're into his dad."
"I'm not!" Joe insists.
"Okay, okay, we believe you," Kevin says, holding up his hands.
Nick laughs, getting up and mumbling something about more Diet Coke. Joe doesn't really get what's so funny.
He makes fart noises with his mouth at Nick as he goes, then pulls out his phone to text Indio about comic books.
---
Really, though, it isn't his fault that Robert is so captivating. Joe even ends up spending an evening in the Downey's backyard after filming. He lies in some ridiculous star shape with Indio, Robert, and Susan until she says she has some work to finish before the end of the night. So it's the three of them pinwheeled on the ground and looking at what few visible stars exist in an LA sky, and Robert talks about how he wants a planetarium of his own sometimes, and Joe wonders how anyone can be this excellent.
"You can always put those glowing stickers on your bedroom ceiling," Joe says.
Robert laughs. He says, "That's -- that's true. Is Michael's still in business?"
Joe thinks that he would love nothing more right now in this moment than to engage in an arts and crafts project with Bobby Junior. He rolls over on his side, and he says to Indio, "Is he serious?"
"Sometimes," Indio says, looking up from where he lies. Joe sort of wants to kiss him. He also sort of wants to flop out on the grass again and let Robert tell him some more about Orion's belt really being a metaphor for Orion's penis, because that was hilarious.
"Wait, tell me," Robert says, and he holds up a hand, making a ring with his thumb and forefinger as he looks upward. "You guys spend a lot of time together, these days. Lately. How do you feel about Guitar Hero? Do you play that one?"
Indio laughs then, and Joe swallows twice. Joe says, "Well..."
"It's another thing Dad here can't get behind," Indio says, cutting in.
Robert says, "Am I right, though? Or am I crazy?"
"Umm," Joe says.
"You play instruments; you get it," Robert says. "Learn how to play 'Sweet Home Alabama' for real instead of how to push buttons on a controller. Right?"
His fingers brush Joe's arm when he says that, the tips touching his skin and holding steady for a few confusing, amazing moments.
Joe says, "I don't play music games ever. I practice guitar every day."
---
So after a couple months, Joe has made out with Indio a few times, and he's used to stopping by the house to pick him up, and it's awesome. Indio even convinces Joe to make out with him in the car once, settling over Joe's lap and working his hips, trying to find friction. Joe touches his sides, hands under the shirt and rocking up against him, and it's awkward but perfect how Indio isn't afraid to bite his lip a little and try to make things interesting.
"You," Joe says, "are wow."
Indio chuckles against his mouth. He doesn't stop, which is probably the best part, and then after they've had enough for the evening, Joe takes Indio home, and Robert and Susan make breakfast crepes at eleven o'clock at night.
"Some people think powdered sugar is excessive, but I like a little flair," Robert says, sprinkling liberally with a twist in his arm that seems practiced.
"Delicious," Joe says. He's going to have to get Kevin to learn how to make this, and then invite him over. "Just. Wow."
He bumps his knee against Indio's, and Indio rolls his eyes at Joe, but when Joe persists, he coaxes a half-smile out of him.
Joe's life is fantastic. He feels so great about this situation.
---
He feels great until Indio sits with him behind the JONAS soundstage one day, and Joe asks if Robert wants more of the brownies Joe and his roommates baked but doesn't get a simple confirmation. Instead, Indio says, "I'm not sure if I'm up for this."
Joe thinks, oh, God, is this high school student breaking up with him? He says, "Are you breaking up with me?"
Indio's wearing jeans and a t-shirt with simple sneakers. He's always about three-times less dressed up than Joe, somehow, even if they're wearing the same things. Indio, at least, doesn't actually own a flatiron, Joe thinks. He likes that about him. Joe remembers when he bought his first flatiron. He also remembers the first time he decided to flat-iron his hair and feather it for no reason other than not being able to sleep, because Amelia stopped calling him back.
Dwelling on things makes Joe antsy, and he likes to keep himself busy to prevent talking too much or saying the wrong things in these situations.
Indio says, "It's just kind of weird."
"The Disney thing?" Joe says, looking around. Nobody even cares. "They don't mind. It's not as bad as people assume."
"No, it's the way that, uh," Indio starts. He cracks knuckles then turns his hand over, picking at the calluses on his fingers. "You're really into my dad, dude."
"I'm not," Joe says. "Seriously? We talk about pastries and stencil art."
Indio sighs, dropping his shoulders inward. It still sort of baffles Joe that this guy is taller than him. Indio says, "It's weird already when friends do it -- new people. You're this person I make out with. You can't be into my dad."
A high school student is definitely dumping Joe. What the hell. He doesn't think he deserves this.
He says, "Indio. Come on. I like hanging out with you."
It's true. One hundred percent fact. Joe enjoys talking about music with Indio, making up random tunes, and then when they play actual video games. Indio is the only other person Joe knows who, like him, still thinks the Zelda franchise is worthwhile. Those kinds of people need to stick together.
Joe says as much, and Indio shakes his head. He says, "You could be describing all the things you like doing with your brother."
"I don't make out with my brother," Joe says. And he really likes that part too. Hell, if Joe had known this was coming so soon, he might've let Indio stick a hand down his pants more than once.
Indio says, "That's one thing."
"I like you," Joe says. "We should keep hanging out. What do you want me to do?"
"You have to break up with my dad, dude," Indio says plainly.
"Done," Joe says.
Fine. He can do that.
---
It proves to be really freaking difficult to break the bad news to Robert, though, when he gets to Brentwood and Robert's making smoothies. Indio declines getting one of his own for the moment and says he's going to take a shower first. He knocks his hand against Joe's arm, catching his eyes before he leaves, and Joe sort of wants to bawl, because then Robert has this assortment of fruits laid out and he's humming Nat King Cole, and Joe feels like he's about to roll over a bunny with a tractor.
Robert says, "It's hard to find good acai berries, so I buy the juice. I don't have the patience like some people. I've got things to do." He rinses the blender pitcher and sets it on the base. "We've got banana, vanilla, soy milk --"
"Bobby," Joe interrupts, droll and forced. "We can't."
Pausing in his preparation, Robert says, "What? You don't like soy?"
"If I drink your smoothies, then Indio will think I like you better," Joe says. He tugs at the cap on his head and shrugs, hoping that he's done his best to communicate a heartfelt, ah, teenagers, what can you do?
"My acai berry does bring all the boys to the yard," Robert says, nodding apologetically. "But Indio understands the value of a good blend."
Joe slides his knuckles over the marble counter, pulling himself up onto one of the barstools. He says, "Hmm. So. It's more that he thinks I have a, uh, crush. On you?"
Robert starts pouring the acai juice into the blender, sets the container down, and then picks up the soymilk. He says, "Ahh," seriously and then counts out loud as he pours. Once it's finished, Robert stares at the blender critically. "Now, that's no good, is it?"
"I guess not."
"Yeah, we just ran out of soy milk," Robert clarifies. "I can't make another batch without it. We'll have to go to the store after." He looks up at Joe, leaning against the counter with his elbows on the surface and his chin in his hands. "Joe, did you fuck my son?"
"What?" Joe says, eyes shooting wide open. "I. You said you wouldn't ask that."
"It's this whole fatherhood shtick," Robert says, coming around the bar and touching Joe's shoulders. He kneads the muscles there. "Among men there's sometimes a code: tit for tat, what's my business is our business is our secret, but with Indio, well. It's a head-trip, let me tell you. Here's the fucking kicker, still, after sixteen years: I'm a parent. And he's my favorite person in the world, so sometimes the rules get chucked out of the window without notice. That's just how it goes, so. Basically, I lied."
Joe doesn't have the presence of mind to really try to pull that apart, so he sticks to what Robert said before and says, "I didn't. I promise."
"But he likes you?" Robert says, unexpectedly concise.
Joe says, "Bobby -- Mr. Downey."
"It's still Bobby, Joe. Relax," Robert says.
"Bobby," Joe says, giving it a second shot. "I like him too."
Robert pats Joe's shoulder and moves around to his side. He says, "See, that's sweet. That, young sir, is what you're supposed to say. I know; I have a lot of experience in what not to say."
Joe scoffs, not particularly convinced that he's somehow made everything right. He says, "I don't know," looking to Robert. "I think he's really kind of mad at me."
"He'll forgive you," Robert says, waving off Joe's concern. He knocks his knee against Joe's in a way Joe has definitely done to Indio before, craning in for secret sharing. "I know that one from experience too."
Joe laughs softly. He says, "He's a really awesome guy."
"Thank you," Robert says. "He doesn't get it from me."
"Are you kidding? You're great."
"Joey, baby, you spoil me." Robert touches his hand to his chest. He moves the hand back to Joe's shoulder, pinching him through the fabric of his shirt. His expression softens even more as he says, "But c'est la vie, mon amour. The sun is setting on you and I."
That makes Joe sit up straighter. Is this for real? Is this happening again?
"Are you dumping me?" he asks, the laugh getting tripped up inside of him. He lets out a really unattractive snort and thinks, yes. Yes, he's being dumped. "Because you were flirting with me?"
Robert rears his head back a little, then seems to suck on the inside of his jaw for a moment, contemplative. Joe doesn't know what's happening in his head, but something about Robert's expression changes. He frowns and then drops the look as quickly as it appears, settling on saying, "It's more that I'm setting you free. Let's say that." He holds up his hands. "Besides, what did I tell you about rings? I have a lot of promises these days. Or people are always promising what they can and won't do, but saying things is easier than -- I mean, me bullshitting came more naturally than drinking water. It's basically all this shit in my pocket, but for some -- for a lot of reasons, you keep patting your pants like you're afraid to drop them."
Joe shakes his head. He says smirks and says, "I never even had a chance."
He'd known that. They'd both known that, probably, but there's still a difference between assuming things at a party and then acknowledging them out loud. He feels the thread of humor in their exchange the same way he feels the weight of it -- 'serious frivolousness' is a way Joe had heard Robert describe himself once, and he thinks he gets that more and more. It's no big deal, if they don't want to make it one, but Indio isn't, actually, a consolation prize.
"I have one really nice watch now. I got it with Susan. But you -- very flattering, though," Robert says, holding out his arms in an exaggerated, showy gesture. "You've got spunk. Pizzazz. All those fun words they use when you're marketable and have a nice smile."
He lowers his arms again, and then leans in and smacks an uneven kiss to the side of Joe's face before reaching across the countertop to grab a banana like it's all part of the act. It feels a lot like a grandma kiss, as much as Robert can do that, cute and non-threatening. He says, more controlled now, "But, really, you're wonderful. I respect this. Stop by all the time." Robert holds out the fruit after he breaks the peel. "Potassium? Trust me, it helps."
"Yeah," Joe says, pulling off the tip, because he's not going to be the guy that turns down Robert. He also doesn't quite feel like bolting from embarrassment, so that's got to be an improvement. "Thanks."
---
When Joe carries two smoothies to Indio's room, he finds Indio fully dressed on his bed and staring at an open textbook. It's completely unfortunate that he's arrived too late for a private look, it seems, but then Indio turns his attention to Joe and says, "Hey," with a small smile. He doesn't seem upset, so that's got to count for something positive.
Joe holds out the glass in his left hand. "For you, young Padawan."
"Is that from Star Wars?" Indio asks, taking the smoothie. "You're into that?"
He moves over on the mattress, and Joe takes the opportunity to sit with him, crossing his legs and tasting his own smoothie. It's delicious.
"I'm almost too young to really care about Star Wars," Joe says. "Right on the cusp. I saw the first episodes before the original releases."
"I definitely don't care about Star Wars."
"Then let's never talk about it again," Joe says. He leans forward to see Indio's book. "And what's this? Biology? Banned. We also never get to talk about this, starting right now."
Joe settles back against the headboard of the bed, drinking and looking around Indio's bedroom. He's been in here before, of course, but it's never been quite like this. Joe has never gotten to hang out in Indio's room while his dad knew for sure that Joe enjoys playing tongue hockey with his son. It's like a milestone, or something. Joe is going to mark it in his calendar at some point, even, just so he doesn't forget. It'll be labeled, The Day I Didn't Get Arrested For Dating Indio Downey.
Indio's content to ditch the schoolbook too, the two of them drink in silence until he asks, "Did you help make these?"
"I just watched," Joe says. He took notes, though. He's going to steal the mixture for him and his roommates.
"So it went well?" Indio asks.
Joe says, "Mmm," swallows and cough. His gums feel kind of cold. "He kissed my cheek."
Indio drops his head back, huffing out a breath. Joe can't tell if it's amusement or exasperation. Either way, Indio says, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a crappy boyfriend, or whatever?"
"Oh," Joe says, dipping his finger into his cup and then licking it. "You'd be surprised. I also don't put out on the first date. Or, the, uh, the eighth one, usually."
"But everything in between is fine?"
"Ha!" Joe points at Indio, drinking more smoothie and then running his tongue over his top lip to get rid of any fruity mustache left behind. "I walked right into that one."
Indio says, "Couldn't resist," and he comes away from his glass with a little smoothie mustache too.
Joe watches him lick his lips, and he thinks, wow. What is this guy even bothering with him for?
He says, "So am I still dumped?" knocking his foot into Indio's leg. "Me and your dad called it quits. He was very bent up about it. I'm a lot of man to lose. I choose you."
"Like I'm a Pokémon."
"I love that you just made that reference," Joe says. He's going to kiss Indio in about thirty seconds for that. Joe turns to the side, draping his leg over Indio's, bumping their feet together. "I'm all adorable and irresistible. I smell nice, come on."
"Dude," Indio says, tilting his chin up and failing to suppress his laugh when Joe tries to tickle his stomach. Joe makes use of the moment by kissing Indio's jaw.
Joe inhales and pulls back abruptly. He stills his hand and he says, "I'm sorry, you know? I try not to be an ass to people. I was kind of dumb about this, about how you maybe felt."
Indio tilts his head to the side, catching Joe's eyes. He says, "Hmm, I think it's cool." He shrugs, pulling his knees up and then straightening them out again. "It sucks competing. I'm just over that."
Joe nods, ducking his head. If Kevin were here, he'd probably hit Joe upside the head for being dense. He has a tendency to do that, to be completely oblivious, and sometimes this is what it takes. Sometimes people just have to rub Joe's nose it, and then he gets it, and once he gets it, he tries to remember that it's important to be on the same page as everyone else
"Sorry. Again," Joe says.
Indio shrugs again, not speaking. His lips stretch some like the beginning of a smile. Joe seizes the opportunity, using his fingers again to coax out a burst of laughter.
"Stop!" Indio says.
Joe says, "Undump me," and presses his fingers down more. "Dude, I'm dying here."
"Okay! Okay," Indio says. "Undumped."
"Yes, thank you, okay," Joe says, pushing ever closer to coax Indio's chin down again, their mouths brushing.
---
Before he goes home, Joe takes a picture of himself and Indio. He sets it as the background on his cell phone, letting Indio watch him do so, because now this is official. This could only be more official if Joe had a Facebook and, thus, could change his relationship status.
As it is, Indio says, "I think I can live without it."
"Are you sure?" Joe asks. "Because I could see if that's possible on our music fan page or something. Although, then people might think you're dating all three of us. It could get awkward, and our fans are... passionate. With blowtorches. They're very passionate about blowtorches and using them to --"
"I get it," Indio says.
Joe makes him laugh, Indio closing his eyes and shifting his head where it lies on Joe's arm. He can already sort of feel the limb going numb, but Joe doesn't really mind yet. It's sort of nice. The fact that Indio even still wants to be there makes Joe feel good about this whole situation.
He doesn't linger after that, because he doesn't want to push Robert and Susan's graciousness. Joe says goodbye on the way out and tries not to think too hard about walking out in a way that makes him look both cool but respectable at the same time, because he's Indio's responsible, older boyfriend now. Joe’s probably a big doofus for wanting to make a good impression this far into it, as if he hasn't been here several times before. It’s still kind of important, though, he thinks, whatever.
He manages not to trip until he's outside, at least. It's all about the small victories.