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For a very long time, Aziraphale didn't understand why Crowley liked to sleep so much. Crowley had tried to explain the appeal many times (it's relaxing! over bibimbap, it's refreshing! during intermission at Albert Hall, it makes everything else more bearable! in front of Van Gogh's Sunflowers), but the simple fact was that Aziraphale strongly preferred other indulgences to satiate himself--food, drink, good (or diabolical, as it were) company.
In the early 20th century, Aziraphale had obtained a small reel-to-reel film projector, and once dinner out with Crowley became a regular occurrence again in the 1970s, post-dinner films at the bookshop happened almost as regularly. Crowley would almost always end up asleep--especially if he had seen the film previously--and almost always laid out in Aziraphale's lap. Aziraphale, who at first was annoyed that his hands were being displaced, eventually took the opportunity to run his fingers through Crowley's hair, something that they both found incredibly relaxing.
So, a few weeks after the aversion of Armageddon, it was business as usual when, during their 27th viewing of Kenneth Brannagh's Othello, Crowley didn't even make it through Act One before he half-sprawled his way across Aziraphale's torso and started snoring softly. The warmth and the weight of Crowley's body was very comforting, and Aziraphale's thumb almost automatically started stroking the soft hair above Crowley's temple.
And then, some time during Act Three, Aziraphale blinked and suddenly realized he had missed a whole scene. Confused, he pressed a button on the side of his projector, rewound a bit, pressed another button, and played the film back. No, there was the missing scene. He must have just not been paying attention.
Except that it happened again. And again. After the fourth time, without opening his eyes or even stirring at all, Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale's chest, "There's nothing wrong with the movie, angel. You're just noddin' off."
Aziraphale hummed as confusion quickly turned to acceptance. Because if Crowley had just said sleeping felt nice from the beginning, Aziraphale might have tried it a little sooner. Although, he thought as he felt his eyelids go heavy and gently flexed his fingers in Crowley's hair, the thing that felt nice was probably, mostly likely, almost definitely the diabolically good company.