[ The lock pops open and falls to the ground with a clang at the same moment that a laugh bubbles up out of Astarion unbidden. He can't help it; the thought that he's 'fantasizing' about anyone else is too ridiculous. As he glances up at Iorveth, his eyes glint with amusement (and the faint light of the few sconces lining the perimeter). ]

You impossible creature, don't tell me you're jealous of Edgar.

[ It's ridiculously endearing if he is, partially because Edgar is terribly, irrevocably fictional. He stands, tossing the lockpick aside, and reaches out to grab Iorveth's hands. ]

Have you been hit on the head recently? [ he asks, sweetly. ] Surely you must know that all of my filthy fantasies feature you in the starring role.