I don't own Claymore.

1/20/2011: Re-formatted, minor editing. Surprised at how proud I still am of this piece: it turned out well.

That said, this is a ficlet idea that wouldn't leave my head until I wrote it down. This is has ClarexRaki implications/heavy overtones, but isn't a real romance. Just working with the cannon, people.

Anyways, ever notice how yoma always seemed to like Raki? I did.

Delicious

The first time, Clare barely noticed. More concerned with getting to the house at all, she barely heard the yoma's word carry on the wind like the faint aroma of supper.

"This has been too tough…" the yoma in the brotherly form said. "Having to act in front of you… the most delicious…"

The sounds of the one-sided struggle covered any more words, so she put more speed into her legs and thought nothing more of it.

Yoma ate men. That was what they had always done. So what if they had a fondness for younger, more tender meat?

The second time, it was no more amusing. Tracking the fake claymore even as the boy she had saved approached, she had little choice but to hide lest she put him in danger.

Watching the beast parade as one of her Sisters, try to convince the unseasoned boy… it was disgraceful, especially when it brought its face close to his, likely ready to devour far more than his lips.

But he was smarter than she had given him credit for, and he had remembered her words, pushing the impostor away.

That day, she made him her cook.

Rabona was where she would have had her first inkling, had she been inclined to accept it then. Teasing him with the offer of a prostitute's smile may have turned him red as a beet, but that mission had proven his mettle, as the saying went.

Dangerous rooftops at night, a dangerous gathering all the suspects into one small room, a chaotic fight. Going a heartbeat, his heartbeat in fact, from awakening.

It was ironic. All that time in the Citadel and it was lean Raki, who had even confided his unease in the Baptismal room, who was the one who found the yoma. It had been a near heart attack when she had realized the danger she had placed him in, but afterwords she felt only pride in him. He was still a bit raw towards yoma encounters; he should have fled for his own life when she gave him the chance. But he had been as faithful as his cooking, and had been able to give her the key to victory.

She could almost see why a yoma would want to eat a head as good as his.

He never intended to, and Clare never once intended for it to be so, but Raki made surprisingly good bait for yoma. Yoma went for him like a cat to catnip; the cunning believed him to be her weakness in battle, the foolish thought he was easy prey, and the plain greedy thought of him as a delicacy.

If nothing else, it gave her practice. These days she could take multiple yoma at once, and her skills were growing. But Clare wondered: just what did the man-eaters see in him that made them hunger so? Even this long-haired Awakened Being coveted her cook.

Wounds and exhaustion from their fights told: her own body, while physically recovered, ached from its recent treatment, and blood still stained her clothes and skin. Raki, having stood up to the sadistic Ophelia with no such regenerative abilities, was a patchwork of cuts and bleeding wounds. His strength would soon wane as the adrenaline passed from his system and his loss of blood would begin to tell, and he would be more weak and vulnerable than he already was.

But he had turned away, and was stumbling towards his own path to safety. She watched him off, even though Ophelia drew closer with every second. She could still feel the kiss through her system. It had been quick, but not shy; she still felt the terror, the pressure of the moment, the sound of their heavy breathing, even the coppery taste of his blood that had tainted his lips and now mixed with her own.

She would remember that taste for the rest of her life, as well as the overwhelming desire and drive to insure that it would once hers once again.

Riful of the West is too playful, too childish, thinks Clare even as she fights the massive man in front of her. For the first time, she is glad that she has separated from Raki, that he is not here. Somehow, some way, Raki would have accompanied her to these ruins, or else they would have come here without knowing the dangers within.

Worse, considering Raki's luck with yoma, he would have wandered straight into Riful's chamber.

A phantom reassurance would be that Riful would not immediately kill him like a normal yoma. She is too different, too childish; this Abyssal One is a yoma who desires friends and allies, order and sensibilities. Clare sees a flash of what would have been: Raki, in danger not even she could save him from, entertained by the seemingly young girl who even now sits behind her.

No, Riful would play with her food. If any yoma would, it would be Riful: she would converse with an exceptionally clever boy for her own enjoyment, be polite for propriety's sake, and play the kind but enigmatic host, the girl who lives with a slow man in the ruins away from town. And Raki, once he got over his initial fear, would talk with her like she was any other girl, like a claymore, like a human being, and not as one who was merely keeping him alive until she was hungry again. He would talk to her as he had Clare.

He would be like a farm girl's favored sheep, to be cared for and loved until it grew old and fit to be devoured. It would be amazing for any yoma, however intelligent or unique, would go years without taking advantage of such a meal.

But none of that matters now, as Clare dodges another massive blow. Such what-ifs are useless and will never come to be, and she would never understand the thoughts of an awakened being anyway.

Years later, she understands. Her mind and heart race, sweat covering her as tightly as Raki's arms engulf her and hers him. Memories of her recent Awakening swarm through her now-again human mind, the feelings and emotions of an alien but all too familiar mind that threatened to devour them both.

She understands why his not-brother was impatient, why the not-Claymore reached for such young fruit. She has seen why that not-Voracious Eater would gladly consume him, why the long-haired Awakened sought him eagerly. She also understands why Priscilla and Isley didn't, why Riful wouldn't have, devoured him immediately. She knows why the memory of their first kiss remains burned into her memory.

She looks at Raki, and he is delicious.