Title: Catch Me If You Can

Characters/Pairings: Nnoitora/Rukia

Genre: Suspense/Romance

Rating: T

Summary: A little game of tag never hurt anybody, right? Following the events after Rukia's battle, but wherein Nnoitora finds her instead of Byakuya.

He'd found her; he always would. It was like one, never-ending game of cat and mouse.

His fascination had been roused like that of a shark to blood when he sensed Aaroniero's dying spiritual pressure leaving in its wake the deteriorating life of Kuchiki Rukia. Being unpracticed to the art of Kido, he'd let Tesla heal her injuries, as well as the life-threatening wound dealt to her by the foreign pike thrust through her guts.

She would be dead, he told himself, but she at least owed him the parting gift of a good winning fight to boost his reputation and reassure his ego.

Yet, as he looked on at her from the sidelines while his lowly fraccion tended to her, he felt warmth spreading throughout him. It wasn't affection or love, God forbid, but it was a tingling—primordial instinct—that made him hunger for death and blood once more. It was what he felt when he saw Nel Tu: that insatiable need for destruction, the crush of her bones beneath his feet and her worthless cries for mercy.

He hated this pathetic female, fragile, but with a subtle power that he knew would find a way to rival his own one day. No! he thought. He had to stay on top. He couldn't lose his ground or be distracted by her beauty, no matter how enrapturing it might be.

Not that he had been transfixed at all by her to begin with. It was more her strength than her looks he was concerned about.

This girl disgusted him; he hated her without reason. And though it would benifit him none, he wanted to deliver her corpse to his lord with pride to at least show that he could surmount to something.

Ulquiorra, that ingratiating pansy, didn't deserve the position of Cuatro, and Hallibel, who he cared less for, should have been six feet under before she ever stood as the Tres.

Stark was a lazy bastard, Nnoitora groused inwardly. How had he ever earned the position of Primera? It was absurd, disgraceful, and more than that, degrading—to him at least.

He desired to vent his frustrations and anger, and where else better to put it, but into Santa Teresa, which would in but seconds be shoved into the small body of this impudent Soul Reaper. Already filled with zeal and expectancy, Nnoitora shouldered Tesla aside and grabbed Rukia, as she was called, before back-handing her three times across the face.

"Wake up, girl!" His shouts were all but scathing. "Awaken, before I run you through with my fu-"

Having already been semi-conscious halfway into the healing process and finding her new treatment unwelcome, slamming her fist into his face sufficed in getting her point across: she didn't like being man-handled.

Rukia hissed at her injuries, not permitting the slightest sound of pain or submission to escape her as he began beating and crushing her into the ground with his powerful reiatsu. He pummeled her with his fists, and she managed to limp away, sucking the blood from her bruised lip before she dared to shunpo.

Her whole body was battered beyond recognition, her mind frayed from the abuse Aaroniero had already laid upon her.

She prayed and pleaded aloud with her soul, the corridors playing tricks on her mind and hindering her desperation to flee.

But no one was listening, and she tried ever so helplessly to grasp her zanpaku-to and move forward with tripping—without failing Inoue. Orihime needed her, and so she must find strength to recover her and bring her back home.

But first, Rukia had to help herself, an almost impossible task considering the predicament she was in. Nnoitora was doing this on purpose, and with great joy. He played with her like a feline would its supper, just so in a fashion exuding temperance, until it devoured its prey.

He mocked her, grabbing her arm and shoving her into the wall, causing her shrieks to bounce off every existing surface within the narrow passageway. Nnoitora licked her neck, relishing in the scent while she squirmed and writhed, aiming to kick him between the legs only for her efforts to be bumped off when he tripped her.

"Don't worry, Rukia," he purred, her name rolling off his tongue, "you'll enjoy this soon enough. Although I can't say you'll like it when I kill you." He laughed hysterically, like a hyena, and stepped over to her, jerking aside just in time to avoid the demon spell she fired at him as a diversion.

It gave Rukia enough time to get away and around the next corner, but for some reason she dreaded that he would keep pursuing her.

Each footstep seemed to echo around the confines of Las Noches for all to hear. She knew only one of these futile gasps for oxygen was on the brink of bringing her into darkness. Her spirit was dying, waning; she couldn't find the power to stay conscious for much longer unless she stopped to rest.

That was out of the question, she told herself, screaming as something skimmed past her head and slammed into the wall next to her. Nnoitora felt the burn of adrenaline rushing through his veins, giving him speed and agility he didn't know he could ever possibly possess. He was insane, like they all said, but he didn't care.

All those critics and idiots with accusations could go to hell, because he was the Espada's best, and nothing could bring him down! He was going to murder and mutilate this little Shinigami—his heart beat erratically at the thought. She wasn't going anywhere, he told himself.

"Where do you think you're going?" he queried, watching as she crawled up from the floor. Her pace seemed to quicken when she heard his voice, but it wasn't enough for her to get away. Nnoitora's hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her towards him while he ripped Santa Teresa from the wreckage he'd created in trying to slaughter her.

"C'mere, little Soul Reaper," he cooed. "You don't have to-" Her free sandal rammed into his cheek with great vigor, twisting his head to the side but failing to drive him backward or even propel him off his feet, as her strength would have done to any other foe.

Rukia blinked in surprise, staring as he cocked his head abruptly to the right, earning a loud crack from his spine. She fearfully pulled her leg back, trying to release it, but it was still held captive by Nnoitora's rather firm grip.

"Hm. That sorta stung," he mumbled, rubbing his pallid face. Rukia hissed in response. "Then this should hurt," she said sarcastically, and he was tossed back like a ragdoll by the impact of the explosion between them.

The raven-haired woman skidded back a good few feet, her violet eyes catching the illumination of the fire Sokatsui had created. She was on the move again as fast as everything had transpired and Nnoitora was left in the wake of her obliteration, smiling. "I like her," he grumbled, somewhat grudgingly. "I like her alot."

This prolonged game of tag went on for some time. She would act astonished by his sudden appearance, and he would push her around before letting her go again. But the problem was that Rukia didn't have boundless energy like Nnoitora did, so when she finally crumpled in a heap, exhausted, in the middle of the corridor, he actually felt dissatisfied.

Santa Teresa scraped against the marble tiling, and all that was heard after he propped his flawless weapon up against the wall were his footsteps.

He approached her tentatively, not sure if this was some trick. Rukia's pants for breath were shallow, a sure enough sign that she had reached her limits and no longer had the reserves of energy necessary to continue their cruel game.

Nnoitora was silent, and she was at the end of her rope.

"Go ahead and kill me," she chocked out. "I have nothing left, so I might as well maintain my dignity by asking you to end my existence. I'm not afraid. I won't beg. Just do it." Once more, he hated her. But for some reason she wasn't anything like Nel, even though she carried the former Tres' brains and the unwillingness to fight him.

This Soul Reaper, Rukia, didn't merely put her morals first when it came to a simple brawl. She put all of it on the line, and swung her sword with grace, but intensity enough to crush one's very will. It was amazing and breath-taking, and he detested her for having the gall to show herself in Hueco Mundo and flaunt her skills by confronting Aaroniero.

Nnoitora wanted to break her, to cripple and maim her until she was begging him for more. Well, why the hell am I waiting? he berated himself.

Rukia's eyes slid to him, spectating as he dropped to his knees and flipped her over so that she was lying on her back. She winced when he gathered her in his arms, expecting him to carry her to the gallows, where she would die. I'm so sorry, Ichigo, Chad, Uryu...Orihime.

Sorrow beckoned to her, conjuring tears that glazed her vision. Rukia was so caught up in her crisis that she wasn't at all ready when Nnoitora kissed her—passionate, but not in a way that was loving or affectionate. He pressed against her angrily, punishing her.

She deserved it, she knew, but why this? Before it could register, she was straddling him, her shoulder-blades grating painfully against the wall behind her while he pushed. He ran his tongue over her lips, not asking for invitation, just barging in and caressing her teeth while he explored.

Rukia couldn't struggle; her strength was drained to nothing, and his hands were at her wrists, pinning them possessively on either side of her. He rubbed his slender frame up against her petite one, both of their thoughts roaming during their explicit act. It was like hide and seek. He was seeking her, for the thing that made her tick, and she was slyly avoiding him, hiding that object of desire away.

Can I have you? he asked, that animalistic part of him snarling in contradiction. Not if you can't catch me first, she coyly said, untangling herself from his grasp so that she can begin their chase once more.

A/N: I loved the title for this, but I felt undecided with the ending. I don't think I ever intended for the intimate moment to slip in there. To write Nnoitora came naturally to me for some reason, even though I know very little about who he is. Other than that, I enjoyed writing down the interaction between these two.

R&R, pweese. :