Chapter Text
“We don’t really know, they just said something about the engine.”
Their flight back home from Seattle had been delayed by a full day, leaving them stuck in a hotel overnight. Shane was in Ilya and his hotel’s room, pacing around and talking on speaker phone with Hayden. They were supposed to ride to Montreal in the late afternoon to have dinner with the Pikes, Ilya had promised he would be coaching the twins on their number for their school talent show. Why his husband, who was sprawled on the bed mourning the loss of Jackie’s lasagna and the girls performance, was judged qualified to help on a musical number, he had no idea.
“That sucks, I guess we’ll just reschedule ” Hayden said.
A voice, that Shane recognize as Ruby’s, whines in the background “Why is uncle Ilya not coming, he promised!”
Shane glances at his husband who’s pouting even more now.
“We are stuck,” Ilya says loudly and Shane sits on the edge of the bed to get the phone closer to him.
There’s shuffling on the other side of the phone and then Ruby’s voice is closer, asking “why?”
“I am so sorry, Iyagushonok,” Ilya says with soft sincerity bleeding into the nickname. Little frog, that’s what he called the kids.
“Maybe we could video call tonight,” Shane suggest. “This way you can still show us.”
The idea is well received, bringing enthusiasm back to Ruby and Ilya who ends their conversation before Hayden got his phone back.
“So, what are you going to do before the flight?”
“Actually, we’re waiting for a few of the guys to watch the F1 race,” Shane says it with a hint of shame, knowing full well his best friend had been trying to get him to watch formula 1 for years. Hayden audibly gasps. “yeah, well Ilya's really into it so…”
“He’s probably a flashy Ferrari fan.”
“And let me guess,” Ilya says. “you are annoying Redbull fan?”
“That’s disgusting, Rozanov.” He says it like it really is, “I would never betray Mercedes like that.”
Ilya is looking at the phone like it just started floating out of Shane’s hand. The three men stay silence for what feels like forever until Hayden whispers “No way” and Shane can’t do anything but laugh.
***
“What the fuck?”
Haas had jumped up to his feet from his initial position sitting on the floor by the end of the bed. Shane was siting crossed legged beside Ilya who was on the edge of the bed, leaned over and elbows on knees in concentration. Bood and Hayes had pulled chairs on both sides of the bed.
Shane’s teammates had arrived not long after he hung up with Hayden with hands full of snacks and takeout of protein rice bowls (Bood, who had muttered something about real food when Hayes had listed the snacks he wanted, had gotten them). When they had arrived, Shane was still laughing at Ilya’s disgust in learning he shared a favorite team with Hayden. The disgust and the laughs had faded away as the man got settled to watch the race.
Barely a minute in and they were all staring a bit dumbfounded at the McLaren’s car getting pulled off track after Piastri crashed his car before the race could even start. Shane knew his name because it was now shown on screen as they replayed the images of the crash.
“It’s the Australian curse,” Bood says.
“What’s that?” Shane asks.
“Australian drivers never win in Australia,” Ilya explains.
Haas sat back down looking a bit defeated. Shane leaned over, patting the man’ shoulder in comfort.
“That’s just superstition,” Shane says. “I’m sure there’s just something unrelated that is wrong with the car.”
Ilya puts a hand on Shane’s thigh. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is, sweetheart.”
“oh,” Shane says, looking at the man who was sitting on what seemed to be very uncomfortable floorings. “You should sit on the bed.”
Shane moved so his back was to the headboard, leaving enough space for Haas to sit by the feet of the bed. Ilya had moved backwards with Shane, not even lifting his eyes from the screen. Once he was sitting beside his husband again, Ilya reached out mindlessly to put his hand back on his thigh.
The cars settles on the grid and the red lights come on, announcing the beginning of the race. Hayes cheers as one of the Ferrari zigzags to first place.
“That is a phenomenal start for Leclerc,” the commentator says. “But it looks like Russel is keeping the distance between the cars short enough to put up a good fight and just behind, it’s Antonelli and Hamilton.”
Ilya grabs Shane’s hand, bringing him close to his side. Shane lays his head on the man’s shoulder and, almost instantly, Ilya’s fingers are leaving his thigh to rake soothingly through his hair. Shane looks up at his husband and smiles, amused. It’s adorable how, even fully distracted because Ilya hasn’t looked away once, his husband comforts him like instinct in stressful situations. It’s even cuter that Ilya is the stressed one, but he’s reaching out to Shane as if to make sure he’s okay.
He must feel him staring because he looks down and asks “are you hungry? Do you want protein bowl?”
They eat and watch the race with very few comments, all of them hooked as Ferrari and Mercedes fight relentlessly for the podium. Shane is reaching over Ilya for his water bottle when the first safety car happens. There’s something on the track, every team is pitting except…
“What the fuck, Ferrari?” Hayes shouts when the two cars pass the pit lane without stopping.
Shane doesn’t understand the frustration, they gained first and second place doing that. There must be a reason though because one of the driver, Hamilton he thinks, complain about it and Ilya chuckles beside him.
“Why do they all pit on the yellow flag?” Shane asks.
Hayes grumbles something about apparently not all of them pitting and Haas answers him.
“There’s no overtake during a safety car,” he explains. “it’s a good time to pit without losing too many positions.”
By the time the next safety car happens, Shane can’t lie, he’s invested. Mercedes is fighting hard, not giving up the first and second position.
“Hayes,” Ilya says when it’s announced Ferrari missed their second chance to pit when the lane got closed. “your team is stupid.”
The rest of the race goes by in a blur. When Mercedes places first and second on the podium, Ilya gets up and dance to his own butchered interpretation of We are the Champion. It’s so obnoxious and so Ilya that Shane can’t help but laugh.
It’s only later, way later, when they’re both laying in bed alone and ready to sleep that Shane whispers :
“I definitely picked the right team. We’re going to crush those idiots.”
The reaction this statement gets from his husband belongs to them and only them.
***
Bonus – the facetime
“Show me end of it again,” Ilya ask looking with full concentration at the Ipad on the bed in front of them where the twins are running over the choreography again.
“I think you should add spin and hands like this,” he shakes his hands on both sides of his head to demonstrate.
“Jazz hands?” Ruby asks.
“Yes,” Ilya says and the twins try it. “Is perfect!”
Maybe Ilya was qualified to coach the dance in the end because, in Shane’s eyes, he’s doing a fantastic job. The twins are smiling and giggling, Shane gives his input on the costumes when they ask.
“Don’t ask him, he doesn’t know how to dress,” Ilya says. “But for this he is right, very pretty.”
They keep going for a few minutes until Jackie interrupts, ushering the girls to say goodbye and get ready for bed.
“Are you stuck forever or will you come to the show?” Jade asks.
“We’re not stuck forever,” Shane answers. “we’re coming back tomorrow, we won’t miss your show.”
“Yes,” Ilya says. “It’s in calendar, no way I’m missing best show ever.”
When they hang up, Shane can’t wipe the smile off of his face. He climbs his husband’s lap and presses kisses all over his face with no warning at all. Ilya laughs, hands going to hold his waist, and pushes away only to come back and kiss him properly. Shane breaks away to speak, keeping their forehead pressed together.
“You’re so good with kids.”
Ilya hums and asks “you have baby fever?”
“Maybe,” Shane whispers.
The way Ilya looks at him is so soft, Shane might cry. Ilya reaches out and rubs a thumb over Shane’s freckles.
“One day,” Ilya says. “We’re going to have baby with pretty freckles.”
“Or curls,” Shane says.
Ilya kisses him again, so soft.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ilya says. “Only matter that it's ours.”
And Shane can see it, a future with Ilya and a smaller version of them. He can see a forever with this man, the happiest forever he can imagine.
And he wants it. He wants it more than anything.