Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after X-Men: The Last Stand. Definitely Alternate Universe)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: T

Author's Note: I'm sorry to take so long to upload. I've rewritten the ending of the last chapter. I think that was the reason I couldn't get this chapter up as quickly as I should have. It was too passive in my opinion. Anyway, here's another chapter, don't hate me.

Unholy Matrimony

Last Chapter:

"She's with me, it was far easier than I expected," John said to the person who answered on the other line.

"Excellent," Magneto retorted, "I'll instruct our mutant brothers to make the next move. If everything goes according to plan young Rogue will be begging you to take her away from the X-Men."

"Let's just hope Destiny is right about her."

"Mystique's former lover assures me that Rogue is the catalyst to mutant domination. That fool Charles does not realize the gold mine he has in his possession. This marriage is just to keep him and his damn X-Men off our scent. Now, do you have the wedding rings?"

John dipped his hands into this pants pocket and felt two small hoops clink together. "Yeah, I'm on my way to pick up the marriage license and pictures Mystique forged. Rogue's upstairs in my apartment. She's totally wasted; thanks to Bobby, convincing her that we are man and wife will be a piece of cake."

"Good," said Magneto. "Alert me if there has been any change in her powers."

For some strange reason, John did not feel inclined to tell Magneto about Rogue's ability to touch without producing significant damage. It was at the tip of his tongue but failed to come forth. Instead, he hung up the phone and headed to the all night post office to the marriage certificates and photos from a rented P.O. Box.

()()()()

John marched out of the all night post office like a man on a mission. Secured in his inside coat pocket was evidence. Forged wedding photos and a marriage certificate were sealed within the large yellow envelop. Taking a sneak peak, he plucked the pictures out of the envelope. The images bowled him over. Mystique had stood in for Rogue to ensure the photos looked authentic. Pyro shuddered. The idea of him having to pose in an intimate manner with the chameleon made his skin crawl. Stuffing the pictures away, he headed up the street and climbed into Rogue's car. Hell yeah, he had taken it. Why not? It was not every day he got to drive a Jaguar.

It was a sick ride.

He slid into the leather interior, basking in the opulent luxury and the state of the art technology at his fingertips. He curled his hand around the wheel. Damn. The car was what dreams were made of. Every guy's wet dream and taking center stage was Rogue; sweet and pliant. His thought returned to their hot interlude in the hallway and his pulse went up three beats. He could still taste her lips. Cherry-vanilla. His mouth curled into a grin. It was a taste he could grow to like.

Involuntarily, Pyro shook his himself; mentally rebuking. This was business, not pleasure. He was here on a mission. Rogue was a means to an end. He'd been tracking her for the last two months. Magneto's orders. Even before the Master of Magnetism made an impromptu visit to the mansion where he unveiled his proposal he'd been tailing her. He was at the bar just outside New Jersey when she walked in with Logan—her ol' ball and chain. After that wild kiss in the bathroom he kept his distance, though his flesh still hummed after their passionate ardor. He knew he had to maintain a clear head. He'd tailed her to mansion. Shopping escapades to the mall with her two dimwitted friends. Each time he was always within reach.

Driving at high-speed, he cleared the streets in fifteen minutes, returning to the bar they'd left earlier in the night. At a little after two a.m. the placed had wind down, the streets were quiet, hardly a person moved inside the bar. He peered through the glass and tapped on the window, waited patiently, and tapped again. He saw someone come from the back and move across the dark tavern in slow lumbering steps. A massive body shadowed behind the glass, before a large beefy hand jerked in the direction to the door. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, John made his way to the entrance now being opened for him, and slipped in.

Cain, the bartender, looked at him with scrutiny then turned and walked heavily to the bar. He heaved his massive bulk onto a tiny stool and continued to polish a set of wine glasses. "Yeh late," he boomed in a deep, heavily accented baritone voice.

Without a word, John dug into the back of pants pocket, and fished out a stack of cash, tossing it on the surface of the bar table.

Cain looked at the crisp hundred dollar bills then flung a bleak gaze on Pyro. "Payment for services rendered?"

"You did your job," answered Pyro, hands once again sliding deep into his coat pockets as he shifted his stance.

He tossed his eyes about the establishment and settled them on Cain once more. He was huge, due to his mutation, colossal in size. Powerful biceps bulged as he worked the cloth in and out of each wine glass before placing them on the tray.

"You have Magneto's gratitude."

"How is the old fart anyhow?"

"The same," John simply shrugged. "A life devoted to world domination."

"Last I heard he got doped up on that bloody Cure."

"Recovered," John replied shortly.

Cain snorted; obviously the lad was in no mood for a conversation. He took interest in the green pieces of paper that made the world turn. Thick, sausage size fingers skimmed the bills, his eyes growing to thin slits. "A thousand?" His eyes became like dark orbs as he glared at Pyro. "That's pretty low, considerin' the fact that Rohypnol is practically illegal in this damn state. Yeh know the trouble I went through to smuggle a shipment in." Embittered, he shoved the bills aside. They skidded across the surface, falling over the edge. "This don't even cover the cost of expenses. And I don't feel comfortable slippin' 'Roofies' into a girl's drink. That's gonna cost yeh."

"That wasn't a part of the deal," said Pyro.

"Deals changed."

A murderous rage emerged from the depths of John's soul. His eyes were mired in black rage. He could feel the heat rising in his skull. "Well," he began, "I know what Magneto will say. That I should kill you and burn you bar to ground."

Something cracked in Cain's expression. Something obscure but terrifying. He surged to his feet, towering over John like an ominous shadow. His large powerful hands flexing and un-flexing. "Yeh fuckin' little piss ant. I do you a favor and this is the fuckin' gratitude. I outta crush your skull."

As he took a menacing step forward, Pyro tossed three more stacks of cash on the counter. Cain spied the money and his lip curled in a shrewd smile. Picking up one stack he leafed through the money. "Now, that's more like it." Rotating sharply, John turned to leave.

"I didn't think yeh were such a pussy-cat Pyro…" The door slammed shut and he chuckled. "Running from a fight the little pansy." He walked behind the bar counter and scraped up the first set of bills he'd furiously pushed over the side. Setting the cash into four separate piles, he started to count his small fortune. He never made it to the second stack.

A thunderous explosion of fire tore through the establishment, igniting the bar into a raging inferno. From the other side of the street, John stood on the sidewalk taking interest in his handiwork. He watched the blaze grow higher to consume the entire building. Rotating, he walked casually down the street toward the Jaguar.

()()()()

Rogue was still asleep when John crept back into his tiny hole on the fourth floor. He watched her for a brief moment. She turned and moaned and stretched—arching like a cat in his bed. He turned aside quickly, the very sight of her in his bed was driving him up the wall. He set to work, scattering the pictures on the table; allowing some to fall on the floor. With the bottle of wine he'd stored away, he poured half the bottle down the sink, and then poured some into wine glasses he placed on the table.

Next, he went to Rogue, and began to take off her clothes. She was dead to the world. The 'Roofies' had definitely done its work. He yanked off her boots and his nimble fingers went to her jeans. He wasn't shy about seeing her halfway naked. Just the opposite. His heart had kicked into high gear as the blood rushed to his groin. She looked incredible in white lace; a striking contrast to her pallor skin. It looked creamy, smooth to touch. He felt the softness of it when his fingers skimmed her flesh as he pulled off her jeans. Even more shocking, he also noticed that once again, her powers had no effect on him.

"Interesting," he whispered, taking a mental note as he chucked the jeans onto the floor and positioned himself further up the bed to remove her blouse.

He met white, sumptuous breast beneath sinful lace and gulped. Against all logic, he skimmed the padded tips of his fingers over the swell of her breath. Rogue moaned, sucking in a whiff of air, shuffling on the bed. John jumped back. It was too much. And worst of all, he had to strip to his boxers, climb in beside her just to make the whole thing look real. John whispered a silent prayer, hoping to survive the night.

Kicking off his boots, he unbuckled his pants, shoving them past his ankles. Next, he did away with his jacket and shirt, tossing them aimlessly on the floor. Hunkering down, he took out two small pills, and crossing to the table, he poured a glass of wine.

"Bottom's up," he toasted, popping the little blue pills into his mouth, and taking a huge gulp of wine. He placed the glass on the table. "Shit." Remembering the key pieces to this little ploy, he reached for his pants and pulled out the wedding rings. He grinned, speaking into the darkness. "I know pronounce you husband and wife."

()()()()

The next morning, John awoke to an explosion in his eardrum. A scream so loud, it sent him flying off the bed, and crashing with a thud onto the hardwood floor. From underneath the bed, he found the source to the massive trauma that caused his ears to ache. Rogue was flying here and there, babbling, screaming, acting all loopy. Despite a hangover, it was rather fetching watching her run around in her underwear.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she kept saying, digging for her clothes, weaving slightly. The buzz from last night had not completely kicked.

John crawled onto the mattress, dragging the sheet up over his limbs. Determined somehow to catch another few minutes of sleep. "Good morning to you too sunshine."

Her eyes as big as saucers, Rogue gawked at John. "Are y' crazy? Lying beside meh like that? I could of kill yeh."

"I'm alive aren't I," he said in a muffled voice.

Rogue drew on her dark camisole, before pulling on her jacket. She was blushing so hard she knew her face was probably as bright a red balloon. John had seen her without her clothes on, and yet he was acting like he didn't care; which should say a lot about what happened last night. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or a little disappointed. But that was the story of her life.

"Y' really are stupid y' know," she spat out, zipping up her jeans, and then dropped on all fours to seek out her boots. They were worth five hundred dollars a pop; she was going to find them.

John flopped onto his back, easing up on his elbows, looking down at her through blood shot eyes. "Listen, can't a guy lie next to his wife if he wants to."

"What?" Rogue cried out and slammed her head against a board under the bed. She surface, grabbing the back of her skull, pain etched deep in her face.

He rolled to his side, pulling the sheet on his head. He held up his left hand, displaying the symbol of matrimony on his fourth finger. "You don't remember."

"Remember what?" Rogue felt sick as she stared at the gold ring on his finger.

He lowered the sheet, a cheeky smile on his face. "We got married, baby."

Pyro couldn't recall her ever being so strong or that tough. Like a deranged woman, she dived on top of him, hammering his face and torso with furious licks. A wealth of obscenities poured out her mouth with such frenzy, he thought she was demon possessed. He managed to gain the upper hand, pushing her roughly to the floor.

"What are you fuckin' crazy?" he roared, rearing up.

Rogue sprang to her feet and punched him cruelly in the face. "Y' sick freak!"

"Takes on to know one," he shot back, tasting blood, and wiping his lip.

"Is this some kind of twisted game?" she hissed. "Did Magneto put you up to this?"

John rolled out bed; he was too vulnerable there and he wasn't about to endure anymore of her physical abuse. He swayed towards the table, shaking off the effects of the little blue pills Magneto was adamant he take. He went to the fridge and nabbed a bottle of beer. "He didn't personally perform the ceremony if that's what you're saying." Twisting off the cap, he took a large swig. He glared at her. "You want proof," he growled. He lifted the bottle and held the cool glass to his already swelling lips. "Here…a wedding present." He went to the table and picked up the pictures flinging them in her face.

"Hell of a way to start a marriage don't you think," his voice cutting like a knife.

Rogue caught one or two of the printed pages, immediately they slipped between her fingers. She tried to shake what she saw out of her head, but the images were already present, burning a hole in mind. She knelt and picked up one picture taking a closer look. It was more than she could bear. And feeling a tight squeeze she too bore on her ring finger made the situation resoundingly real. A quick glimpse on her left hand sent Rogue barreling out John's tiny apartment.

"Rogue! Aahh, shit!" he snarled. He plowed outside and race down the hall, just in time to her running down the stairs. He rushed back into his apartment, hauled on his jeans and t-shirt, and snatched up her keys still in his coat pocket. Conveniently she had left them behind. Well, she wasn't in her right state of mind.

Taking the stairs two at a time, John burst out his building and slid into her car. The need was urgent. He had to find Rogue or Magneto would hand his ass over to Mystique; who would be more than willing to dispense her own form of retribution after he followed Magneto in suite by leaving her behind in the armored truck.

Luckily, he didn't have to travel far. He spotted her charging up the street. She looked pissed. The Jaguar came to a screeching halt as he pushed a button to make the windows go down. "Rogue! Rogue, get your ass in the car!"

She whirled around livid. "Screw yeh asshole," and she gave him the finger.

"Hateful bitch," he seethed with rage, slamming his fist on the wheel. He maneuvered out of traffic, gliding into a parking space. He got out and jogged after her. Without catering to the fact that they were in public and in broad day light he grabbed her, heaving her over his shoulder caveman style. Rogue screamed and writhed. Thrashing, hissing, she kicked like an alley cat.

Opening the trunk, he tossed her inside, and slammed it on top of her head. "Get out of that if he you can," he shouted, ignoring her screams. Pyro quickly circled to the driver's side. He saw a mother with her small child looking at him; horror on her face. "What the fuck are you looking at?" She gripped her son's hand and scurried away terrified.

"Bitch."

He climbed into the car and started the engine; the tires squealed as he tore down the asphalt. "You can scream your head off no one is going to hear," he said to the never ending banging and screams coming from the back of the car. Fast and furious. John drove. Never stopping till he was a least six miles outside the city. Exiting off US 30, he stopped at deserted clearing, and got out of the car. He was ever mindful once he opened the trunk. Rogue flew out swinging. He dodged her furious kicks and licks, shoving her hard into the dirt.

"So what?" he bellowed. "We got married. It's not the end of the world. It's not like I fucked you even if I wanted to."

"Y' scumbag," she roared, leaping to her feet, lashing out furiously she clocked him again in the jaw.

John caught her wrist, twisting her arm savagely behind her back. He thrust her down on the trunk of her car. He hissed and looked down to see that his hand was making contact with her bare skin; her poisonous flesh was active slowly seeping the life from his body.

He winced. Not caring at the moment. He'd had enough of her childish antics. "I've done some shitty things in my life," he spoke harshly. "But I will not let some bitchy little X-chick treat me this way. You put your hands on me again and I will tear that ass you. You got me!" He hauled her up, shoving her aside. "I-95 is that way. You can run home to Pa Logan and weep in his lap. I sure he's dying to know just what you've been up to."

He started walking, his nostrils flaring; his heart pounding in his ribcage. He got into the car; his blood was boiling. In the rear view mirror, he saw his bottom lip had once again cracked open and started bleeding. "Shit." He wiped the blood away with the black of his hand and fired up the car. Rogue was at his door side.

"Y' not gonna leave me here."

She sounded frightened. He glanced up. Now, she was afraid. "You bet your sorry ass I am." He left her in the dust, punching towards nowhere. He had no sense of direction. He didn't care. He had to get away from her before he killed her. He hated Magneto for putting him in this situation. Hated himself for even liking the idea. Hated himself for wanting her so damn much…and want her he did. Ever since he first laid eyes on her when she came to mansion looking all scared and pathetic. He wanted to be near her, kiss her, mend her broken heart.

"Fuck you Bobby," he yelled. "This is all your fault!"

Bobby was partly the reason he'd left the X-Men. It made him sick to his stomach to be around those two. They walked around the place looking like a mini Scott and Jean. Worst off, he'd become the odd man out. Once they were a threesome, now it was Bobby and Rogue, and he was the guy who had nothing better to do but hang around and interfere in their love life.

After thirty minutes, his temper faded. Guilt took hold. What was he doing? He couldn't leave her out in the middle of nowhere for some psycho to prey on. Of course, her lethal skin would make it impossible for a rapist to take advantage. Nevertheless, he felt responsible for her. He swerved off the road, astounding other travelers in their cars. They honked in outrage. He speed down the opposite end of the highway and to his fortune saw Rogue walking in the direction he had indicated earlier.

He pulled up next to her. He knew she was pissed. Her face was pinched white and her eyes were fuming. She marched in furious steps, ignoring him even as he honked at her. Ticked, he slammed on the breaks. No wonder Bobby was diddling Kitty. Rogue was too high maintenance. He pressed the button for the automatic window to roll down. "It will take you a week to reach the mansion. And with no money I'd say you're screwed."

Rogue froze as though she was thinking. Absently, she popped the passenger side door, and got into the car. She snapped the seat belt in place. John set the Jaguar in gear and took off. He felt her hatred. It radiated like the sun's rays, but he'd dealt with worse. Rogue's ire was something he could handle.

Hell of a way to start a marriage, the thought danced in his brain. It was hard not laugh and she jerked her head to him, glaring in rage. Wondering what was so damn funny.

After an hour, he felt his stomach growl in protest. He looked her way. "You hungry," he asked.

Her words were like ice. "Don't speak to me. Just get me home."