"Mnh," Aziraphale murmurs as Crowley winds lazily around him, that's quite nice. He settles in more comfortably, letting his eyes drift shut, continuing to slide his hand gently over the scaly coils. He smiles at that - that this tastes like a garden - how appropriate indeed.

"Don' do that," he mumbles. "Get indigg- ingid- indigestion." He laughs as well - it feels strange and good to laugh - and when it dies down he lies in comfortable silence, still petting, thinking he could let himself drift off like this and it would be all right. He wouldn't mind sleeping on purpose, he thinks, just this once.

He ventures to say something else but doesn't make it, only breathing softly. Crowley seems to be into the idea as well, resting heavily on him. Yeah, sleep. Just to extend the temporary contentment. That'd be worth it.