[No, Astarion very much understands. (Astarion probably thinks it's kind of hot.) The things he would do to his own master if he was ever given the chance to tear him apart, bit by bit. He knows he would feel the same, with a wave of heightened relief crashing into him not soon after. Freedom would make him so, so happy. He would absolutely not break down or anything of the sort.

He leans in again, red-eyed gaze sharp. He's utterly forgotten about the task of ushering wine back and forth.]

Well, darling, it's a good look on you, I think.

[But with that, another laugh, easing back again.]

Though I certainly never want to see it directed my way. Remind me never to cross you.