Aziraphale's grip loosens, and Crowley promptly continues his squirming with more direction: trying to find a way to tangle properly with Aziraphale that means he won't get fur in his mouth.

"Wouldn't know," Crowley says with deliberate absentness. "Given I'm not a fae."

Nothing like one! Nothing at all! Couldn't name a single similarity! He cannot imagine why anyone would think such a thing!

Squirming again he rests his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder, enveloping himself in his warmth.

It feels nice. Like heated blanket or something. Is Aziraphale always this warm? He's not entirely sure, maybe it's just been a warmer day. Either way, if holding him calms him down it's really a win-win situation given how nice it is.