Chapter Text
Most people would think that elite athletes, aka athletes who earned hundreds of thousands of dollars per game, would have expensive hobbies. Most people would be correct.
Formula 1 was like catnip to top athletes.
Shane Hollander, as an elite athlete- as the elite athlete of hockey, his husband aside- was well aware of Formula 1.
Unlike most of his peers though, he was not invested in Formula 1 at all.
Sure, he could appreciate nice cars, and the athleticism that most people forgot about when it came to Formula 1, but he wasn't really one of the folks who would block off their Sunday nights to watch rich kids drive around in circles.
At least, not until his husband had been invited to go for a hot lap with Oscar Piastri, McLaren Formula 1 driver. Current World Driver's Championship leader. A hot lap that had just ended, and was being followed up by an interview- an interview that made Shane's ever steady composure split open like a fault line.
On screen, Ilya gets out of the car, tugging the helmet off his head, shaking his curls out and flashes a euphoric grin at the camera. A grin that Shane usually only saw after sex.
"How was the lap, Ilya?" the interviewer asks, approaching the Russian, who was still enthusiastically talking at Oscar Piastri, who had also just taken his own helmet off.
"Oscar drives like crazy person," Ilya says excitedly, his cheeks still tinged with pink from the exhiliration of the lap. "Like very precise, very calculated crazy person, but crazy person. I see why he is leading world championship."
"From what you've told me, this is how you drive on public roads, Roz." Oscar deadpans, brown eyes flicking towards Ilya's face.
"It is athleticism!" Ilya retorts, his voice filled with conviction. "You are athlete, I am athlete, we drive the same, da?"
Oscar blinks.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
"That's one way to define athleticism."
The interview continues, but Shane is already turning away from the screen, his eyes narrowed in irritation as he looks anywhere and everywhere but the screen.
Unfortunately for Shane, his ears have a mind of their own- he can't help but continue to hang on to Ilya's every word, as Ilya talks about the g-force felt on his neck, and how he should probably start incorporating more neck training into his workouts-
"Shane, how are you not seeing this?" Rose laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches Shane's increasing irritation as the on screen interview continues. Unlike Shane, her attention remains on the screen as Ilya continues to make increasingly absurd statements, while Oscar keeps responding with the same dry, understated one-liners he's been volleying back at every ridiculous thing that Ilya says.
Unfortunately for Shane, Ilya laughs at something Oscar says.
It is not the laugh that Ilya gives reporters, or the commissioner, or the citizenship interviewers.
It's Ilya's real laugh- the one Shane hears whenever he messes up the pronunciation of a Russian word Ilya's trying to teach him, the one that slips out when the Pike twins decide to dress up in their Rozanov jerseys, the one that fills up their living room when Cliff Marlow calls to tell Ilya he'll personally pay Shane's salary if it means Ilya will come back to Boston.
Shane hates it.
"That's the problem," Shane grits out, dark eyes glaring at the screen, an adorable pout on his face. "I am seeing it, Rose. I've been seeing my husband with him all weekend. I don't even think Oscar Piastri likes hockey-"
"He is cute," Rose says teasingly. "I mean, just look at how awkward he is, he just hates media, I know it."
Shane finds himself wondering- what was with hockey players and Formula 1 anyway?
It wasn't like Formula 1 was a topic that never came up amongst NHL players. The Kingfisher regularly hosted Grand Prix watchparties- Kip had always been an F1 fan.
The thing about Kip Grady though, was that he attracted NHL players like a flame attracts moths. After the historic kiss on ice, the Admirals had gotten a bit enthusiastic (translation: confused, but had the spirit) in showing their support for their captain and his relationship.
Carter Vaughn had ended up deciding on the team's behalf that the best way to show their support was to basically become Kip's new best friend.
It just so happened that Carter Vaughn was also an F1 fan.
On one hand, more players started coming around. Some came to hang out with Scott and Kip, others wanted to watch F1, and everyone ended up doing both.
Ilya had been one of the first to become a Kingfisher regular.
"You do not like Formula 1, moya lyubov," Ilya had once told Shane while they were lying in bed one night, qualifying for the Singaporean Grand Prix playing in the background. "I think you could like F1, Shane. It is fun. Expensive cars. High speed. Drivers being bitchy. Yes, very me, but it can also get very boring. Engineering, simulators, math, aerodynamics, all the things that make me go zzz."
Shane shrugged. It wasn't like Shane hated Formula 1. He just didn't have the same level of investment as Ilya did.
"I'm surprised to hear you call it boring," Shane teases. "You've turned down sex to watch Abu Dhabi live."
"We had sex after the race," Ilya points out, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. "I remember because I did that thing-"
"Not the point, Ilya." Shane interrupts, turning faintly pink at the memory of that night.
Ilya ignores him, continuing to speak.
"I do not understand how you are surprised, Hollander-"
"It's Hollander-Rozanov-"
"I love boring! I married boring! I fuck boring into the mattress several times a day!" Ilya says enthusiastically, grinning at his husband, his blue eyes shining with adoration. "So it makes sense that I also like F1, yes? Boring."
Ilya's backhanded brand of sweetness never fails to bring warmth to Shane's chest. A small smile curves Shane's lips up.
"I just…" Shane reaches over to take Ilya's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb into the space between Ilya's knuckles. His brow furrows slightly as he tries to verbalize his worry. "When we watch F1, half the time, I don't even know what I'm watching. When we're watching hockey, or even figure skating, we can talk about plays, strategy, technique, even player gossip. I can't do that with you when you're watching races."
Ilya's teasing expression melts into something more serious. He turns away from the TV and meets Shane's eyes.
"A few years ago, even talking wrong on ice was dangerous for us," Ilya tells Shane, blue eyes earnest and soft as he looks into brown irises. "Before we came out, we could not even smile at each other in public without raising suspicion. Being able to do such, ah, what is word of the day from Hayden's app? Mundane, yes, mundane things with you is more than enough, Shane Hollander."
The notch between Shane's brows smooths out.
"But if it really worries you so much," Ilya says, because of course he knows exactly how to reassure Shane. "We can go to Kingfisher- been too long since I have called Hunter dinosaur. I can watch F1 with Kip, talk about tyres and strategy, and you can be super gay with Scott- no flirting though. You are married."
"I'm regular gay," Shane says drily- but the idea does have its benefits.
Ilya was right. For years, they couldn't be seen together in public. Time together was fleeting. Now, Shane could be every bit the lover boy he wanted to be.
The knot in Shane's chest that he didn't even notice was there loosens, and he squeezes Ilya's hand. "I'd love to go with you. Maybe you and Kip can even teach me some things."
Little did Shane know, Formula 1 watchparty nights at the Kingfisher would end up being both a blessing and a curse.