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He was not what you had expected, stuck somewhere between an annoying, petulant child, and the monster that you know he'll grow to be a part of. You can't be bothered to care either way. He's tall, lengthy and bony, skin rougher and thicker then human skin, and so murky green, like waterlogged seaweed that reminds you of your home. He's taller then you, by a few inches you say, yet he always demands to exaggerate the difference exclaiming that he towers over you, a short and fragile human. His muscles are long, roped like that of the reptilian creatures you could only hope to study over a computer before. His hands and feet are large with frightening claws pricking off the end, he's ruined plenty of shirts of yours before. He's going to ruin you before it's all over. He's not so much sturdy and dense as he is wiry and sharp and honestly rather terrifying, but you have no need to be afraid he's all bark and no bite and he knows he's full of shit, besides part of you and part of he formed one of the most terrifying monstrosities in this universe. Being around him, the thrill of those claws, those large canines glinting like butcher's knives in his mouth, the horror he brings, his idiot's personality, though he's a better intellectual match for you then most of your exes, it's a pleasure. His alien affection and tender urges, the two of you are an interesting mix, it's not what you had expected, but it's exactly what you want.
Your grin is nothing short of a shit-eating smirk when you come across him again. He's standing on your planet, proud above his newest conquest, wiping some dirt off his black shirt and those stupid suspenders, your eyes rake over the unfamiliar muscle groups chording beneath his shirt.
"Hello Dirk." He can tell you're there before he turns around, his voice doesn't match his body, more nasal and with strange inflections on the letters F, Q, and P that shows how obviously he's not human.
"Hello, Caliborn." You walk towards him, eyes glued on the alien lines of his shoulders. He turns to you, you've always had a hard time deciphering his expressions, your years of studying human faces not coming I'm handy where the red, ultra-extended checks and strange contours of his face are concerned. He doesn't wear shoes, thick skinned feet curling like a lizard's foot as he strides towards you.
"It has. Been a while."
"You're the time player here, bro you can tell better then I can." It comes naturally to banter with him, and your smirk dies down from shit-eating to something much more subdued but almost as telling. You settle yourself in your position, putting your weight on your left hip as he stands in front of you.
"My aspect is not important here."
"I was making a joke."
"Your humor isn't funny."
"I disagree."
"You always do."
"But isn't that what makes me interesting?" You raise an eyebrow, cracking the tiniest of smiles at him. Your friends think you're insane, you very well might be.
"It makes you irritating." You shrug.
"Perhaps yeah, but I doubt you'd be interested in me if I were any less spirited." The conversations between the two of you are always like a competition, two equal parties vying for conquest. Despite your calm exterior it imbues your blood with excitement and makes your heart titter.
"It would be nice. To see you be a little less. Complicated." You step closer to him, smile a bit wider.
"Here I thought you were gonna say I should be more complacent, submissive, all 'ohhh Caliborn' and swooning into your arms." You fake swoon at that, turning and tilting enough just so that your left shoulder blade barely kisses his chest with your hand over your heart and your eyelashes fluttering theatrically under dark shades. His grin is wholeheartedly earnest and the sharp teeth reflect light dangerously but you don't care.
"That's not bad either." His arm moves to wrap around you but you push off his chest and turn on your heel, raising an eyebrow at him, all accusation and playful teasing.
"Yeah but that is so not going to happen."
"I could have guessed as much." It's almost a grumble and his eyes have the same wildness they have when he's fighting. You could chock it up to the fight he just ended but you prefer to think it's because of you. His arm is half reaching towards you, fingers twitching in the air where you were moments ago, he's admitted you're annoyingly speedy and light on your feet, of course he said it with much more profanity and statements of dominance. You use that speed to dart up, annoyingly perched on your tip toes, until you're face to face. You know better then to just dive into a kiss with no warning lest you cut yourself on those chompers but he gets the message, besides you like the feeling of the two of you being so close that you can't tell who's breath is who's, makes you feel almost breathless and ever so alive.
You only feel more alive when he kisses you, deceptively gentle and dare you say tender. You let out a huff of breath onto his face and when he pulls away you put your hands on his stupid suspenders and reel him right back. You kiss him with more urgency, rougher, and you let your hands smooth over his shoulders for support on your toes and you know he doesn't much care for your aggressiveness but he can appreciate it and respond in kind. He's certainly responding in kind when his large clawed hands hook threateningly against your thighs and pick you up, oh how he loves to lord his strength and your lightness over you. You hook your legs around him out of necessity, giving a growl in your throat to show him he shouldn't be so cocky. His mouth is twisted into a hard smirk and it pisses you off to be perched on his hips with his claws digging into the meat of your thighs. You dig your own blunt nails into the tough skin of his shoulders and neck and bring him back for a kiss to bite with your (herbivorous as he likes to call them) weaker teeth.
Despite the harshness you display it all shows, in some deeper subtext you prefer not to share, how much you care for him. You know his feelings are the same, your childish back-and-forth of affection and one-upsmanship the paper on which your emotions are written (perhaps in invisible ink but it's your nature to be cryptic). This comes through in the gentleness of the hands cradling your thighs, the softness of his lips against yours, and it conversely comes through in the scrape of your nails against rough skinned shoulders, the bite of your teeth against his lips. Where his emotions are written gentle and tender yours are rough and aggressive. They contrast to the differences in your bodies and attitudes but so real in their existence anyway. You both know how to translate the language of your physical actions, and so you both know what this translates to: I care for you. A statement not without consequence, but a statement still overflowing with truth. It's not you had expected with him, but it's exactly what you need.