[ My, but it does things to him when Crowley speaks of love. Or, in this case, the absence of it. ]

...then I shudder to think of the lengths to which you would go if you did love them.

[ And shudder he does, in spite of himself, on a shaky exhale. Not unlike this.

He can't help the way his expression softens at the next bit — that it had begun with curiosity and pursued with a sense of duty seems only fitting. ]

And of the subsequent times? Your curiosity had not been, ah — satisfied?