Crowley nodded, feeling much the same way about it, maybe more so. He preferred to wear the fashions of the age he was in not the ones from the centuries he had passed through. But Aziraphale's eyes were tightly closed. He might have felt the motion but he wouldn't have seen it. He also wouldn't have seen the bright smirk that suddenly appeared on Crowley's face at that confession.

"You had a Abbot trying to look up your skirts?"

Deep, deep smirk.

"Good taste that Abbot but really! That's very Canterbury Tales."

Crowley's interpretation of the event might have been less 'close to the truth' and more 'wish fulfillment'. And telling a demon not to think about it was like drawing a bright red highlighter arrow right to it... all he could do was think about it! Like that tree in the middle of the garden, don't touch THIS... flashing neon sign to do just that!
Now the it in question might have been different than expected. He found he wanted that closeness back. To be snuggled up on Aziraphale's shoulder, to be able to set his forehead against the angel's and to breath in the comforting scent of the man... and oh, temptation accomplished! He was pulled close as if he had any intention at all of escaping.

Just as he had hoped his forehead came to rest on Aziraphale's and, as if creating a mutual pact, his hand landed on the angel's hip in a 'if you move I'll know it too' way and not at all in a 'I'd love to cuddle you again way'.

"How did you handle it, that Abbot?"

He decided to ask to cover his actions and maybe get an amusing bedtime story out of the deal as well!