Return of the Writing Exercise (HeavyxMedic)

“Write something with Heavy and Medic either:
1) Trying to have a date, being total husbands
Or 2) Having an argument”

   The clink of silverware, china, and glasses and the muted laughter of the other restaurant patrons were like an old, familiar song to the good doctor, having known some of the finest restaurants in the metropolitan city of Stuttgart. His companion, however, felt the whole thing as unfamiliar and uncomfortable as the suit that tugged across his giant shoulders. Medic noted the menu: multi-course, French, a la carte, pretentious. Out of habit, he made mental notes of things he could recommend to Heavy, whose palate would find many of these dishes foreign and suspicious on paper.
   “Anything look good, liebe? I could make some suggestions from each section…”
   “Why so many sections? Why not one like normal?”
   “Because they make more money this way. However, it is a good chance to try many things.”
   Heavy shifted uncomfortably in the plush dining chair that was meant to be large and luxurious to the average diner. He fit into is snugly. “Only…only hungry for little bit. No need for many things.”
   Medic glanced up at him, his icy blue eyes able to read his companion’s face like an open book. Rather than drag Heavy’s embarrassment out in the open, he decided to try coaxing it out on its own. “Why so little appetite, schatzi? You are normally ravenous by now.”
   Heavy winced as he looked down at his companion, so fit and handsome, with plenty of room in his chair and his suit fitting perfectly. “Not tonight is all.” The giant felt overwhelmed as their waiter approached ready to take their order, only to have Medic mercifully tell him they needed more time. The waiter looked up at the large, uncouth man in his cheap suit with distaste, trying to hide it for the sake of a decent tip, but it did not escape Medic’s notice.
   Medic went through the menu with Heavy, trying to persuade him to try something, knowing once he had a taste he would want more like normal. A body as large as his needed an extraordinary number of calories, and Medic kept a subconscious tally in his head. Heavy only perked at the mention of a nicoise salad, not really appropriate for a dinner entrée, but it was all he would consider.
   The waiter returned, and raised a snide eyebrow at their choices, Medic taking a salad as well so as to stand on the same ground as his beloved. “I am afraid we are fresh out,” the waiter annunciated carefully to the dull-looking pair. Medic smiled, without any humor in his eyes.
   “Well then, schweinhund, what would you suggest?”
   Heavy grimaced, praying the doctor would not cause a scene.
   “I would suggest,” the waiter replied coolly, “you and your…friend… order something else. Or leave.”
   Medic stood, with a certain flair as he swept his jacket over his shoulder. “An excellent suggestion! I won’t be needing this,” he declared gaily, handing his wine glass to the waiter, turning it upside-down as it made contact with his hand and spilling down the seething man’s apron and shoes.
   “Come, liebe,” Medic purred as he bumped another waiter with a dessert cart aside, commandeering the cart and strolling out the door with it as if it were his grocery shopping. With Heavy close behind him, no one dared challenge the two with their many confections.

   Later, they sat in the back of Medic’s van, a pile of drive-thru burger wrappers balled up in one corner, the fancy little cart strapped down behind the front seats. The back was open as the two dabbed in cups of mousse and plucked the sweet fruit from little tarts contentedly.
“Much better,” Heavy growled low as Medic rested his head on his lover’s shoulder.