Disclaimer: I'm not Kubo Tite, therefore I don't own Bleach.

A/N: If you decided to read this story based on what I've written before, please STOP AND READ THIS.

This is nothing like most of my past fics. Most of those happen to be fluffy and cracky to the extreme. This isn't.

For one thing, it's rated M for a reason. Most of the prologue is a lemon, and the entire story (which I've planned to be about three chapters counting this, but there may be an epilogue as well, and chapter two was over 5000 words). This fic will also have some swearing.

There will be a few light moments, it's impossible for me not to put any in, but there will be a lot of angst (hopefully no emo-ness, though) as well. The name alone should be a dead give-away, it's Spanish for "lovesickness". Not to mention that angst comes with the territory for this pairing, so sorry in advance!

…wait, why am I apologizing? It's not my fault, I may have started the FLOL Hichihime thread (it's a guilty pleasure, what more can I say?), but copper-neechan and the others were the ones who corrupted me. Before then, I skipped over the lemons in fics. Now look at this! So if you want to blame anyone… *points at the other members of Hichigo's Harem with an evil gleam in her eyes*

Anyways, don't say I didn't warn you. There may or may not be another lemon in this fic, and no, I don't look shifty at the moment. Seriously.

Her hand fisted in the sheets, clenched so tightly that had that thin slip of fabric not been there her nails would have torn through the skin of her palms, adding more pain to the exquisite maelstrom of sensations he always called into being from that shadowy corner of her heart, where it was kept under lock and key while she walked beneath the sun, and while he…

Her thoughts cut off with an audible gasp as his teeth suddenly closed around her shoulder, ripping greedily into her flesh. Her head rolled back against her pillow and her entire body arching upwards until she was sure she would snap in half but it felt so good when her breasts were caught against his chest, so very good. With a long, low moan, she stretched out the arm that wasn't tangled in her sheets and brought it around the back of his head, not even fully realizing what she was doing in her desire that his mouth wouldn't leave where it was. At the first hint of contact, however, she felt him stiffen and release her. She whimpered as he moved his legs from where they pinned her own, raising his head and body off of hers.

"Bitch," he panted, "what—"

"Don't stop," she whispered, her chest heaving against his. Her hand fluttered insistently against his neck, trying to pull him back down. "Please, don't stop…"

Black and gold eyes widened, and then narrowed. He shifted his weight onto his left arm, and quickly lifted the other to place it almost gently on her bosom, his thumb lingering as it brushed across her hardened nipple. Then he leaned down, careful and yet not, squeezing the wonderfully soft and plump breast. She whimpered, and he bent his head downwards until he had to turn to keep their noses from touching, their lips mere hairs apart.

"What do you want, your highness?" Taking in his words rather than air, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the taste of each inhalation; desert wind and blood.

"Don't stop…"

"Who do you want?"

"Please," she breathed, but his mouth was closed against her pleading. "Please!"

"Tell me who, princess," he murmured again, his nose brushing lightly against her skin, and she tried desperately to bring her mouth that infinitesimal distance to no avail, he kept himself just out of reach until her head thumped against the pillow once again, whimpering in frustration. Her legs twined around his, pulling his hips down towards her, but he stopped when he heard her moan of longing at the feel of his hardened staff.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear, lips just tickling the cartilage. "And you might just get it."

Her hand climbed upwards into his hair, fisting in it and pulling at some of the longer strands. He didn't mind—it was a welcome change from how she had been before, flinching and closed-eyed and tame. His, not his.

But now…

"Tell me!" He growled, an order now, no longer a cajoling request.

And then he was inside of her; his hips were grinding against hers as she arched upwards, crying out in a language mankind had understood since the beginning of time but never known. After what seemed like neither a second nor an eternity, but also nothing in between, of indescribable emotions and feelings crashing through her body, they fell back against the bed, chests heaving. She could hear him grunt as he thrust himself deeper into her, feel the warmth spreading within her, hear her own feeble moaning as he pulled back, too soon.

Her legs tightened around him desperately, however, they were trembling and he parted them with ease and slid out of the stained, sticky bed. But rather than leave as he had every other time, he stood there for several long moments, his naked body gleaming with sweat in the starlight as he stared down at her. She turned her head to meet his gaze with her own, despite how heavy her eyelids were becoming.

"Good night, princess," she heard, and by the time she had finally surrendered to sleep he was gone, just as he always was.

Theirs was a simple enough deal: he let the King keep his days, and she gave him her nights. Ichigo had yet to suspect anything, he rarely bothered with the Hollow and Orihime was quite experienced when it came to masking her emotions. He'd looked through the King's eyes often, and seen the myriad of ways she'd used to hide the results of their little agreement; makeup to hide the shadows under her eyes, long sleeves for the bruises, even a thick ribbon wrapped multiple times around her neck as a choker when his mark couldn't be hidden under a shirt.

She was a clever girl, his princess. But not as clever as she had thought herself to be. She had fallen so far she was about to hit the ground, and she didn't even know she had started off flying high.

It was almost time to spring his trap.

Every night before this, she had climaxed screaming the King's name, focusing on their shared silhouette. Today, he had asked her whom it was that she wanted—and she seemingly hadn't answered.

As he slipped into the King's room, the Hollow smirked. He knew better, of course. She had answered, even if she herself hadn't realized.

After all, how do you cry the name of the nameless?

So lost was he in the surety of his victory, he never noticed the narrowed eyes that had followed him into the room. High above the Kurosaki Clinic and its sleeping inhabitants, a man crouched on reishi-fortified air, his expression as unreadable as the pavement far below. However, his body language was far more vocal as to his current state, as displayed by the white hue of the knuckles of the hand that he had folded around his zanpaku-to's leather-wrapped hilt. Moonlight glinted off of a shock of spiky red hair and an inch of exposed steel.

"Shit," Abarai Renji muttered, knowing that what he had just seen didn't bode well for any of those he called nakama.

A/N: Review please! I have a stick and I'm not afraid to poke people with it, just ask Healer!

Also, because I can't let this end without a single bit of funny… OMAKE!

"Holy fuck!"

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'holy'," Renji managed to pick his jaw up off of the ground enough to say, "but you're half-right."

The two shinigami stood far above the house but not quite high enough to miss anything that was going on in one of the windows. And what was going on in there was not only anything, but everything. A moan drifted up to the two peepers, and Rukia felt her ears ring from the force she used when clapping her hands over them. "I'm not hearing this, I'm not seeing this, this isn't happening… Renji! Stop staring, damnit!"

"Why the hell shouldn't I stare at them?" He retorted, blushing slightly. "I mean, just look at them! They're going at it like—like bunnies!"

Bunnies. Renji cringed internally, cursing Rukia's obsession over the floppy-eared creatures. He'd just said bunnies. If Kira, Hisagi, anyone from the Eleventh, or, well, anyone else had been there, he'd never have been able to live it down.

His dark-haired nakama, meanwhile, had first gone pale at his words before sliding into a green reminiscent of some flora in nature, but rarely humans. "I'll never be able to look at Chappy the same way again. I'll have to burn my collection; it's tainted forever now. Oh, kami-sama…"

"You know," the redhead commented dazedly, "I think she just said that."

"Don't remind me."