AN - this is more Klaus centered. no particular setting. It doesn't fit anywhere.

Supernova

He could smell her heading his way. She smelt like magic. Fire. Like an ice pick through the temples. The usual alarm bells went off in his head. She couldn't hurt him, of course, not since he became the hybrid, but old self-preservation instincts were hard to kill.

Klaus nodded absently as he sauntered down a lane in a random store. Okay, not a random store. His fingers trailed over a fancy little number in black lace. Red bows at the straps… It'd go well with garters, four inch heels, a diamond studded collar…

"Can I help you?" the shop girl gurgled. A pretty, modest looking strumpet, not at all the type you'd expect to find taking employ in a lingerie shop. Young, girl-scout looking… a patch of red was blossoming in her fair cheeks and creeping down her neck. Blue eyes flickered up, down, at the wall… at the other girl working the register. Shy. Cute. A nice pulse throbbing under her freckly skin and subcutaneous fat…

"Maybe," he let his eyes rake over her, just testing… listening to her heart go erratic.

She bit her bottom lip, made her face go stern and professional. One thirty-two beats per minute. Not bad. "What are you looking for? Anything in particular? Special occasion?"

Not really. Nothing special at all about him and his living situation. He was just a run-of-the-mill millennia old hybrid who was partial for cohabiting with witches. Every now and then, he fed them his blood. Every now and then, they'd getting a little rough under the sheets. Every now and then, they'd engage in dark magic and sacrifice somebody, but Cindy – her name tag said Cindy – didn't need all the details. "Belated birthday celebration," he answered. Not entirely a lie, that. The celebration of his life was about eleven centuries belated. "And I'm very particular about the wrapping paper."

He couldmore than smell her now, he could recognise her clip-clop shoes and her lub-da-dub heart.

"What colour are you looking for?"

He didn't really have anything in mind. He was hiding out in a mall killing time, and somehow lingerie store felt better on him than Radioshack. "Green? Forest green?"

"Green?" Cindy pinched up her eyebrows, frowning. "Not really a birthday colour, but let me guess, green eyes?"

Well, did it matter? He'd not noticed, really, but he'd go out on a limb and say yeah? Eyes like emeralds? He'd not be looking too deeply into them anytime soon… Always dangerous looking witches in the eye. They bewitch you… "Green eyes," he nodded with a grin, "You got me."

"What size?"

"Hmmm?"

"What size? What's she measure. Petite? Big and beautiful?"

Petite? Petite didn't really float his boat. Strike one for you, Cindy… There was nothing worse than the feel of rib under his fingers. Not to say he wanted chubby, but he like them grippable. Fleshy enough to sink his teeth into. Slim? Slender? Call him old-fashioned but women were supposed to be soft. Not muscled. Not toned. Not pushing a six pack. "Petite?" he answered, "Thin, but not stick thin. She's one of those types."

"Types?" Cindy flashed him another quick smile as she started pulling pieces off down the rack. "She's one of those types," she repeated, imitating his accent and frown. A rather good imitation, he'd admit… "As opposed to your normal type? What's your name?"

"You can call me Nicholas if you want." It's times like this, chatting up the innocent victim, pretending to be just some human, that make his day worthwhile.

"So Nicholas…" she stretched for another piece, her tee raising just enough to reveal a pink smooth belly and a cute neat bellybutton… "What's your type? Are you fixed on green, cause I might be able to interest you in something blue."

Maybe she wasn't so shy after all. It'd take an awful lot of gumption to flirt with a guy in a lingerie store… "My type is…"

"Let me guess. The Heidi Klum? The Russian tennis star? I can see you front row in a fashion show watching your girlfriend strut down a runway in an overly revealing piece of class couture."

There was some snark in her voice. A little bitterness. Hmmm, somebody lost their boyfriend to the bombshell, maybe? Got out-glittered maybe? He could see that happening to a girl like Cindy, wallflower tattooed across her forehead in fluorescent ink. "My type…" he drawled, "Is the pretty, dirty-blond, wallflower type. Cheerleader, but not the cheerleader. You don't have to be smoking hot, pretty blue eyes are enough as long as–"

"She's willing to go a little freaky behind closed doors," she finished for him.

"On special occasions."

"Every day could be a special occasion for someone like you. So," the girl climbed down the step, "What size are we looking at?"

"Again?"

"Cup size." She cupped one of her own breasts. "What are we dealing with?"

"What are you?"

"32 C."

He waited for a moment, just the slightest bit confused. Was it customary for lingerie shop attendants to fondle themselves? Or was it all part of her flirt? She wasn't very good at it, the flirting. Too subtle at some parts, too bold at others. Too jaunty. He let his eyes pour over her again. But she does have that lovely, little staccato heart. "Congratulations. Let's go with something like 32 B."

"That's not bad."

"Meh," he shrugged. "I can do better."

"Most chauvinists think like that," she held up two pieces for him, both a dark green, one a plain lace mesh, the other a tangle of straps and well placed flowers…

Chauvinist? How dare she? "Anything edible?"

"Edible?"

"That I could eat off her?"

"Wrong store, Bob."

"Nicholas," he corrected. "I wouldn't know much about all these stores… Today, I'm making an exception, but normally I prefer my women naked. I'm not big on ceremony, love. Sex is the same as a handshake, no need to fancy it up in my book, but sometimes you try to do something old in a new way and bang, fireworks," he shrugged

She twiddled the fancy piece out for him, he nodded, she smirked… "Buying yourself some fireworks for your birthday… No better way to celebrate life than with explosives." And she started wrapping the parcel.

And bloodshed, he wanted to add. Blood made most days bearable. Some slaughter to get his heart pumping again. What he wouldn't give for a good old-fashioned war, to be out on a battlefield with a piece of steel in hand, joining the boys for a good, old pillaging. Long time since he'd plundered a village. He followed the girl to the counter, paid, took the glossy fancy bag from the cashier. A super-muscled security guy gave him a once over and a look.

"Ah Cindy…" he sighed, "Cindy, Cindy, Cindy…" You socially awkward, unsexy little human girl… She really was pretty, though. Nice lips. Lovely yellow hair… "If I told you I was the king of the world and could make you immortal, what would you say?"

The security guy scoffed. The cashier exhaled in her seat blowing out air hard and returned to a crossword puzzle she was halfway through.

Cindy too, made a sound in the back of her throat. "I'd say that you're a bit delusional."

"I'm a vampire werewolf hybrid."

"Yeah."

"Really love, I am." He moved to the door, scanned the length of the mall, searching through faces for one in particular.

"And you're buying this for who? Buffy?"

That would make him who? Spike? Please. Spike had nothing on him. Spike, Damon, Edward, Lestat… whoever, they had nothing on him. "I guess you can call her that. She's a slayer all right, hates vampires with a passion."

5, 4, 3…

I see her.

"Bonnie," he slid out of Oh La Crème,purposefullymakingher jump, gasp, stumble two steps back. Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie.

Oh, the look on her face. Sheer horror. Sheer panic. Beautiful.

Honestly, she wasn't too bad on the eyes. Fear looked good on her. A beautiful bounding, galloping heart that seemed to say, 'this is life'. An adorable little mouth, all lip and red lipstick. Mmmm… Involuntarily, he felt his nether regions begin to respond. Supernatural. The way any man would respond to any woman but exponentially so much more. It was his death, responding to her life. His strength responding to her magic. His immortality responding to her doom… and his desire to pluck her out of the world. He understood in that moment what had happened to Damon. He understood in that single moment, how this one traipsing girl had the power to destroy even him, if he let her. The girl was… hypnotically… attractive. Not physically, per se… but the multiple aneurysms she was sending through the vessels in his skull felt nice and made him think about giving her multiple orgasms. Fire was crackling in the air around her exquisitely. A wind was blowing through her hair, despite the mall's solid walls of concrete and reinforced steel. This is supremacy.

High school girls might not be his flavour, but he'd make an exception for raw, unmitigated power.

"What do you want Klaus?" she gritted out, the fear making her jaw clench.

All your power… Your utter devotion, and then some. "At the moment love, just the sight of you has left me satiated. Nice to see you out and about."

She glanced around her nervously. "Don't do this here."

Do what? Why did they always expect mayhem? Couldn't he want to just say hi? He couldn't help giving her the once-over again. Okay, he could help it, but he liked seeing her uncomfortable. She was wearing the normal teenage-witch uniform – triplicate blouse layers over skinny jeans. He'd kill to see a witch, any witch, in a tank top and hot pants. "How's Elena?"

"Fine."

"The weather's nice out. Can you believe this heat?"

She didn't answer.

Instead a crackle of electricity went up his spine.

No doubt she'd meant that to be painful… Bonnie Bennett. All his pet peeves and turn-ons rolled up in one. Okay… She's got the juice.

"Remember how a while ago, you tried to kill me and failed? Remember how I let you live, forgiveness and all that?"

She nodded cautiously. Another wave of aneurysm hitting him between the eyes, stronger than before.

"Well, this is where you repay my kindness. I need to borrow you for a week or two for a spell I want to try out."

"Never!" she hissed.

"It's either by free will or kidnap… Easy way, hard way…"

"Just leave me alone–"

"I really will leave you alone. I don't much have a problem with killing them all, the Long Distance Daddy, Goldy, the shoddy Third Edition… Damon Without a Cause. Even the homeless guy who wipes tables at the pub." He sighed, "But I'll give you a chance to reconsider."

He handed her the package, crinkly paper and all.

"What's this?" she opened it gingerly, took a moment to recognise what it was, then crushed it up and put it under her jacket.

Prudish much?

Kill her or kiss her?

He really wanted to kill her. In interest of fairness atthe very least. He'd ripped heads off of people who looked at him wrong, so in the interest of fairness, this girl who'd set herself up to be his slayer, this rookie nemesis if not arch nemesis, really deserved to be put down six feet under. Why hadn't he killed her?

Because she was cute?

Semi-beautiful?

Not like green eyes were rare.

Not like prodigy witches were rare.

Okay. He'd use her for his spell, then kill her, plus or minus a quick shag up against a restroom wall.

She would look decent in forest green, he realised almost regretfully. "Tell Damon it's on the house. My treat. Now walk away and don't try anything stupid."

She took a step back, another then wheeled, retreating where she'd come from. It'd be something to see her without all the clothes. Find whatever birthmarks there were to be found. Long time since he'd done some ripping, and wasn't she just rippable? God, he loved witches. Everything about them. Like holding a star in the palm of his hand, every single one of them. Once in a century, he'd get lucky and come across a supernova. Bonnie'd be the supernova of the twenty-first century, sure as hell and hail. A nuclear warhead just waiting for him to turn the key, punch in the codes…

In his experience, there were only two ways of dealing with witches. The good way, which involved the exchange of loads and loads of various body fluids and swimming in pools of blood, or the bad way, which was pretty much the same as the good way except the witch in question died gruesomely at the end. As he watched her flee away from him, reach for her phone, hit speed dial no doubt to report his siting to Papa Damon… he decided to leave Bonnie's options open. Good way, bad way… he'd figure something out. She'd be a nice addition to his collection, and there was always that procreation thing he'd been meaning to test out. Why not with Bonnie?

The attraction was 45% bloodlust, 45% regular lust and 10% unadulterated hate. Kill her? Maybe. He needed her? Maybe. Supernova's weren't all that rare. People like Greta who abandoned her family for him were rare. People like Maddox and his white voodoo were rare. People like Gloria, God rest her darling soul, were rare. Mindy, the sexiest librarian turned hybrid ever, was rare. Bitches who set him on fire and spent their waking hours plotting his destruction were a dime a dozen.

"You seriously just threatened her?" Cindy stood in the doorway, hands folded over her chest. "What kind of a creep are you?"

Oh… Witnesses… Were malls always this full with cute expendable women? He plastered on one of his friendlier faces. This is dinner, he decided. Long time since he'd opted to convince a girl to get fed on, but Cindy'd be up for it. She had some kinky in her under that pink baby tee. He could see it. "Bonnie and I have an understanding. This is friendly foreplay."

"I'd hate to see your unfriendly foreplay."

The only woman in the world to piss him off enough to qualify for unfriendly foreplay was Katherine Petrova. "My place, a bottle of three hundred year old wine, and the most unforgettable night of your twenty-two year old existence. Friendly enough for you?"

She screwed up her face, glanced back at the frowsy woman at the cash register, the security guy on his stool. "Happy birthday to you, then. I get off at four."

He followed her back into the store. "What's your colour again? Baby blue?"

AN: This was a chapter from when I was considering a sequel to Polyester Striptease. Didn't want to just delete it though, because it's 25 hundred words somebody might like.