Angel never fucks Lindsey in bed. Against the damp, gritty wall of an alleyway building, right before dawn, on top of Lindsey's desk, covered in files and memoranda and all the other little reminders that it's still the business day – that's where they come together, no affection or words between them. Angel doesn't rip Lindsey's clothes off or yell his name in a moment of passion; this isn't love they're making and their passion is one of anger driven lust. Lindsey has something inexplicably frustrating and tempting, drawing Angel closer and closer until he has to drive himself inside Lindsey to try to discover it. There's pain and a struggle for both understanding and power, but nothing close to love, trust or any other feeling that would convince Angel that he could wake up next to Lindsey.
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