Disclaimer: If I did own Gravitation (which I don't) I'd make it more insane.

SUMMARY: (I am ASSUMING Shuichi does not know how to drive…yet.)

In a deranged world were machines rule the roads, one spastic boy will step up to join the growing craze of…driving. However, learning this sacred art requires a certain amount of skills and a good teacher to sharpen them.

Rated R or M (same difference) cause of the language

Driving Lessons!

Prologue

He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Which was pretty weird since it happened three hours ago.

K's car blew up.

It wasn't that he was surprised that it had. After one year of having K drive him to work, it came as no surprise that an explosion would occur. He was more surprised that K had gotten injured, for it was such a rare event that it only happened once every five hundred years.

In any case, everyone was pretty sure that K had provoked the explosion, although K passionately refused to admit it.

"It's okay K-san. You're among friends. You can admit that you did it."

K punched Shuichi out of the hospital window as quickly as Shuichi had finished his sentence. "You fool! I would never let myself be injured by my creations!" He turned to look at the other two band members, his eyes burning blue flames. "And what are you doing here! You're wasting precious N-G time!" He pulled out a bazooka from under his pillow. "GET TO WORK!" he screamed, blowing Hiro and Suguru out of his room.

When he was sure he was alone, and the doctors had clamed him with tranquilizers, he looked out the window Shuichi had broken with his head. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. "Oh no," he said in grief. "Who's gonna take Shuichi to work?"

-

"Hello?"

"WHERE'S SHUICHI!"

"Who the hell is this?"

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

"Maybe he's up your—"

Shuichi took the cordless phone from Yuki's hands and threw it out the window. Yuki looked down at him. "You're paying for that."

"Yuki, who was that?" asked Shuichi hastily, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Who knows?" responded Yuki, patting the sides of his thighs for that damned lighter that always disappeared at the most unfortunate times.

"Yuki! You have to tell me who it was!" cried Shuichi, pulling frantically at the writer's shirt. "What if it was—" Shuichi stopped himself, and the house was silent, something that never happened in the Uesugi residence. Then, one single letter escaped the singer's mouth. "K?"

It had been three days since Shuichi had ceased going to work, and they were the scariest three days of his life. He had thought ditching work would be cool, for then he'd have more time to do what he liked: kiss Yuki, touch Yuki, annoy Yuki, watch Yuki, bone Yuki, bite Yuki, tease Yuki, pinch Yuki's cheeks (the ones on his face); basically anything Yuki related.

But K (although he was still in the hospital) haunted him like a shadow, incessantly sending "reminders" for Shuichi to go to work. The last one managed to turn some of his gorgeous pink locks white, because it was a bomb disguised as a puppy, which he was lovingly holding. "GO TO WORRRRRRK..." it said before it exploded.

"Why don't you just go to work like you're supposed to?" asked an annoyed Yuki, a cigarette dangling dangerously from his lips. Where was that damned lighter!

"But Yuki!" whined the singer, wrapping his trembling arms around the writer's waist. "I'm scared!"

"Of what?" asked Yuki half-mindedly. He shifted his gaze from the furniture, to the TV, to the idiot that made it impossible for him to move, to the floor and back to the furniture. He would make sure the lighter would pay when he found it.

Shuichi buried his face into Yuki's lap. "I knt dreyv."

"Damn it! Get off, you damned punk!" yelled the frustrated blonde, pinching Shuichi's cheeks and stretching them to the sides.

"Sowwwie!" Shuichi apologized, though he still clung to his lover's waist.

They continued to argue like this for five more minutes until Yuki, out of pure frustration, yelled, "WHAT THE HELL DO I HAVE TO DO FOR YOU TO GET THE FUCK OFF!"

At that Shuichi let go immediately and looked up at him with big, excited violet eyes. Yuki looked down at him angrily, his cheeks flushing in fury and his chest heaving up and down with much needed air. This was the first time Yuki had been angry and actually showing it through simple body gestures. Nonetheless, Shuichi kept on happily looking at him. "Teach me how to drive!"

Yuki stared at Shuichi. "...What?"

His Shuichi senses warned him of trouble if the blonde refused to teach him how to drive, so he had to come up with something that would make the blonde accept. "If you don't teach me how to drive..." he began. He knew for sure Yuki would never volunteer to drive him. And he couldn't think of anyone else (who was sane) that could give him a ride to work. Desperate for an alibi, he looked out the window he had broken, looked up at the ceiling he had decorated with spit wads out of boredom and looked to the kitchen where the black stove sat. It was hard for any stranger to tell anything bad had happened to that beautiful black stove.

Except Yuki knew what had happened.

Shuichi had happened.

Because the stove was white before he came along.

As Shuichi looked at all these things caused by his unique self, Yuki followed his gaze, and his eyes widened at every disaster the punk had caused. "I guess I'll have to stay here forever..." finished Shuichi.

"Let me grab my coat."

Shuichi jumped up and down happily before realizing the meaning of Yuki's response. "Hey!"

End of Prologue

So uh…tell me what you think! This is my first attempt at a continuous Gravi story so, be gentle…

Adios!