Lying slackly in each other's arms, momentarily sated, Spike nudges his head beneath Angel's chin and begins humming softly to himself. Angel half-laughs, half-groans, lightly slapping Spike's forearm. "Since when do you like Annie Lennox?"
He can't see, but he knows Spike's giving him a filthy look. He relents, humming along for a few bars of Love Song for a Vampire until he gets an even filthier look, the one reserved for those who are chronically off-key and would do well to never attempt any kind of music.
It's surprisingly good, this lazy afterglow. Familiar in a new sort of way. It's been a century-plus since they -
Well. Things change, he'd changed. He'd come to bitterly regret permitting Spike's creation and his continued existence, even after the chip. Loathed the thing he'd shaped in a twisted sort of love.
Now, though? Holding Spike is coming home where he's welcome and wanted. The other vampire knows him for what he is, and has no regrets.
Thinking that, Angel pulls Spike a little closer and lays his cheek atop the crown of his head. He wonders whether he dares hum again, or if he should just savor this stolen, golden moment.