His hand stroked the slave's hair, as he silently accepted the slave's words. He simultaneously was impressed and displeased by Altair. Altair was truly a rare breed - prideful, but not without words in his head. It would be true if Cygnus said that Altair was the most educated slave he had dealt with, in his years spent at sea. Most slaves had broken gaits and bent backs, wrists and ankles scarred forever by endless chains and shackles. But here was a slave that had the audacity to challenge him in small manners, with the boldness to take to him using a tone saturated with his thoughts of Cygnus. He felt a passionate heat of anger and lust build up inside him, from Altair's inflection and retorts. He raised his hand and delivered a harsh smack to the slave's left cheek, pushing him down to the ground and climbing on top of him. Cygnus pinned Altair's wrists against the rough lumber floor, so that the slave might be forced to see him, if not stare at him.<br/><br/>"What do I want? You. But it seems we stand at a crossroads here. You desire something that I am not. I desire you. You would rather stab me than fuck you. I would rather fuck you than stab you. I desire you beneath me, moaning to whatever graces you worship, in your bird-like Dusanian speech. But I don't believe you would give any of that to the gruff old pirate, yes?" he articulated, voice a tad raspy. He positioned Altair's wrists so he could pin both down using his right hand, reaching his left hand down to fondle Altair roughly. "If I cannot have it, I will<i> take</i>it. I will spread you myself regardless of what chirping you make. Blood will be my love oil if you resist." Then he began to unravel the sash that hid Altair's tumescence.