Title: Deepest, Darkest
Characters/Pairings: Evan Rosier
Prompt: Dementor breeding
Rating: R
Word Count: 667
Warnings: Dementor!sex
Evan Rosier felt many things when, at the very first Death Eater meeting that he had been permitted to attend, two Dementors were brought before him and the other men. He felt the swooping misery that always accompanied them, then an additional flash of annoyance that turned to anger at the Dark Lord for bringing them out and forcing him to feel the unhappiness. He felt confusion as to why they were there. But one thing that he most certainly did not feel when the creatures moved together, so close as to almost be mistaken for one, and he realized what they were doing, was arousal.
The Dark Lord, it would seem, was different from Evan in this respect.
"Look at them," he told his Death Eaters, almost breathlessly. Evan did look, and the rest of them did as well, taking in the way in which their bodies – if they could be called that – twined about each other intimately. "Look at how they embrace… this ultimate act of darkness…"
Vile, Evan thought. It is vile and disgusting. He felt vomit rising in his throat, and quiet voices were beginning to make themselves known in the back of his mind.
Their skeletal hands disappeared into the flowing rags of cloaks that clung to the Dementors' frames, and Evan's stomach turned. He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to be sick, but had no doubt that the image would haunt his nightmares for months to come. A glance at the Dark Lord, who was staring almost longingly at them, suggested that he would not be the only one for whom this memory would last.
"You look away," the Dark Lord breathed at last, looking around to the others, who all looked quite ill. "All of you pride yourself on your respect for the Dark Arts, and yet this act repulses you. Why? Rosier," he said, turning his attention to Evan, "you are the youngest and newest here. Speak for your compatriots and tell me why this disgusts you."
Evan jolted. He was unready to be addressed and distracted by the Dementors. The whispers in the back of his mind were becoming louder and he did not want to hear them and it took all he had not to succumb to the creeping tendrils of misery he could feel curling around his almost palpably.
"I– I do not know, my Lord," he said, hating how like a whimper his voice sounded.
"You must… you cower from them more than any of the rest…"
Evan could not listen. He was transfixed, gazing on in horror while one Dementor lowered its hood. Its mouth gaped open grotesquely and the second Dementor's posture seemed to change – though it was difficult to be sure, with the two creatures floating off the ground. It was a relief that the Dark Lord spoke no more, because Evan could not have brought himself to reply.
The second Dementor had lowered its hood now too, and Evan had to struggle to hold back tears of profound sorrow and terror. The Dementor's mouths were barely inches apart, and even as Evan watched, one of them began to shake. Its rattling breath became louder, and slowly, painfully, what looked like a wisp of smoke – or perhaps a scrap of thin cloth – emerged.
Evan had never understood before how Dementors reproduced, and when the… the fabric or the smoke or whatever it could be said to be was pulled completely from its throat and congealed into a rough approximation of another Dementor and the creatures split apart, he was sure he had never wanted to.
"You have not answered me, Rosier." There was something close to a catch in the Dark Lord's voice, but he managed to sound as composed as ever. "Why are you so disgusted by this?"
"I do not know, my Lord," Evan repeated.
But he did know.
He knew that even those who adored darkness had lines that they would not cross, and seeing Dementors copulate was his.