Author's Note: Writing for the ALIAS fandom is relatively new for me, so please forgive any discrepencies! I'm an ALIAS latecomer, brought to it through none other than the film Titanic. A certain Irish shipbuilder, played by a certain Canadian actor, who also played a certain agent in ALIAS. Funny how a ship that sank 100 years ago could bring me to write something like this!

(Possible oneshot. Has the potential to be more, but right now, who knows).

Unabashed Jack Bristow kink/smut ahead...

RATED M FOR SEX, BLOOD AND LANGUAGE

(I don't own Jack and Sydney Bristow. I do own Agent King).

Location: Central London, England - back entrance of the Royal Albert Hall

Mission: Tracking down the lead cellist of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, who lives a double life in England and the United States. He may hold the key to the disappearance of a top US lawyer.

Agents assigned: Jack Bristow, Sydney Bristow, and Oxford-born rookie agent, Melanie King

Slipping Under: The Allure Of A Certain Agent Bristow

...

It was cold and dark, and I could just about make him out. I ran towards him.

''Jack?''

Jack Bristow was leaning against the wall, panting hard and clutching the right side of his chest. He saw me and shook his head.

''I'm fine, Agent King.''

He didn't look fine as he sweated profusely, blood seeping between his fingers. The left side of his face was bruised across his cheekbone, down to his jaw. It was at times like this that I put the agent in me to one side and fussed over him instead. He hated that. He was 25 years my senior and we worked together from time to time. His daughter Sydney, a fellow CIA agent, didn't know how close we'd become. She'd had her suspicions, but her old man and me kept our pokerfaces and let nothing slip. There's nothing going on between your father and me, Sydney. I don't think she ever believed us. She knew gaslighting when she saw it, but the pokerface was all part of life in this game. Jack and me... we were fuck buddies, really. Except for one thing; I was growing emotionally attached to him, in ways that were not appropriate. This was Jack-fucking-Bristow. I wanted to be the woman to 'tame the wild beast', if that was even possible.

''Let me look at that.'' I insisted, nudging his blood covered hand out of the way.

I slipped his jacket off of his shoulder to get a better look. The blood was soaking through his shirt.

''Baby, what happened?''

''Don't 'baby' me, Agent King,'' he warned, wincing at my touch. ''It's a flesh wound. Nothing serious. Stop fussing.''

I didn't listen, of course. I began undoing his shirt buttons and peeled the bloody side of his shirt from his chest. He rolled his eyes at my concern, then winced again as the fresh air nipped at his injuries. I observed the wounds; there were slash marks across his flesh and he needed to be stitched up. But despite the blood, his injuries appeared to be far more superficial than I'd first thought.

''You sure you'll be alright, Jack?'' I asked him, shaking my head. ''You'll need to stem the flow till we can patch you up.''

He snorted, a trace of a smile on that usually rigid face of his.

''Here's an A for stating the obvious, Agent King."

Sarcastic bastard that he was; one of many the reasons why he was so appealing.

''Oh, cut me some slack,'' I sighed, ''You were being shot at and blown up when I was still learning the alphabet. Thirty years as a human target? You're lucky to bloody well be here."

Still trying to catch his breath, he gave another uncharacteristic hint of a smile. Jack wasn't known for showing emotion, even at the most desperate times. He was a pro with stoic facial expressions. All part of the job, of course. He straightened himself up and staggered forward a little.

''Headrush...'' he groaned, steadying himself with his huge hands on my shoulders. Jack was a almost a foot taller than me - something else I liked. A tall, strong, older man with silver hair. Hands the size of spades... feet, the size of boats. Believe me, it's true what they say about men with sizeable feet.

His blood was all over my palms and my fingertips, even under my nails. I had nothing to wipe it on except for my clothes. But the sticky, tacky feeling of Jack's blood was rather erotic to me. I'd always been oddly attracted bleeding men; I can't say why, exactly. I seemed to have a bit of a fetish. I suppose it was almost vampirish. Now that I knew Jack was in no danger, I wanted to play with him a little. There was no-one else around and it was almost midnight.

''Agent Bristow?'' I cooed, pushing him backwards into the wall.

''...the hell are you-?''

I ripped open the rest of his shirt with an animalistic urgency, and ran my fingers gently over his slash wounds.

''I should've known this would turn you on,'' he said in a matter-of-fact monotone. Then he slid down the wall, landing with a bump on his backside on the ground. He splayed his long legs out ahead of him and held his head in his hands for a moment. He looked back up at me, squinting his dark brown eyes as though he was trying to focus. ''I'm seeing two of you now, Agent King..."

Jack was never one to laugh, but he was amused by the brief bout of double vision. I got down to his level on the ground and straddled myself in his lap. His shirt was hanging off of him, and the blood from his slash wounds was still running down his chest. I raised my hands and smeared the blood across his skin with my fingertips, making sure he could feel my nails scratching his flesh.

''Taking advantage of an injured man, Agent King?'' he quipped, doing nothing to stop me.

''I'd never do such a thing...'' I purred, swirling the blood in random patterns all over his chest and up his neck.

I took his face in my hands, transfering the red stickiness to his face with my touch. I tenderly ran my thumb over his bruised cheekbone, and leaned forward to 'kiss it better'. I brushed my fingers down over his lips, making sure he could taste the saltiness of his own blood. Then I kissed him, gently at first. I nibbled on his bottom lip and turned my head sideways, planting my hands on his bare shoulders. Our tongues entwined and his hands soon found their way under my blouse, unclipping my bra at the back, without hesitancy. I freed myself of my blouse and threw my bra to the ground - it was rare for me to be outside topless, on a cold October night in merry old London Town. Not the brightest thing for a trainee CIA agent to do, maybe, but I was feeling especially provocative. I pushed my plentiful assets forward into Jack's chest, skin-to-skin. The blood was still warm and sticky, continuing to ooze from his wounds. My breasts were smeared with the stuff now. That was how I liked it, and he wasn't exactly complaining. He was enjoying the party, gasping and panting at every little touch and every little movement. I bit his neck hard and he jerked his head up.

''I have a theory about you, Agent King,'' he mused breathlessly, squirming around underneath me. ''Your skin could use some tan, and you only ever come out at night. You love blood and biting necks. If you're not a vampire, then I'll lose a hundred dollar bet."

I chuckled at his 'theory' as I reached down with blood smeared fingers, grappling with the zipper of his pants. He pulled my skirt up around my waist and I raised myself up a little. I took a hold of him and slid him in, pushing my hips down slowly. He gave a low groan as I completely took control of the situation. Jack Bristow was never the one in charge when we did these things - no way. It was always me. Always the pale, English Rose who looked like she wouldn't say 'boo' to a goose. Indeed, my rather delicate looks were quite deceptive. I think that was why Jack liked me so much; I spoke with a prim and proper Oxfordshire accent and I looked like something out of bloody Pride and Prejudice. But on the other side of the coin, I was way tougher than my outward appearance suggested... and forward in the bedroom. Jack appreciated my many 'talents', so to speak.

I eased my hips up and down, still straddling his lap, and he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. I ran my red, sticky fingers through his silver, wavy hair; down his ears and over his jawline, then down his sinewy neck. His skin was glistening with a combination of blood and sweat, just the way I liked it. His hands were gripping my waist and he attempted to control the pace, but I wouldn't let him.

''Move a little faster, Agent King.'' he growled in my ear.

I lifted his chin with my finger to look him deep in the eyes, and shook my head. There was a sultry, all-knowing smile on my lips.

Suddenly, the radio attached to the belt on my hip crackled into life.

''Agent King! You're in full view of the night vision cameras!"

Shit! The voice of Sydney Bristow was loud and clear. Not to mention, her obvious disdain.

''Get the hell off my father!"

She clearly wasn't happy. And our cover was blown; busted by the very person we'd repeatedly lied to.

Jack pulled the radio from my belt and held it to his lips, his eyes locking with mine as he spoke into the device.

''It's not what you think, Syd. I'm injured. Agent King is just helping patch me up.''

The radio crackled again.

''So Agent King took off her bra for medical purposes? Save it, dad.''

She was pissed, alright.

Jack shook his head and pushed the radio back into my belt.

''Well, Agent King, it wouldn't be the first time Sydney's caught me on the job.''

I grabbed my bra and my blouse and scrambled to put them back on.

''Why aren't you, oh, I don't know... embarrassed? That would be the normal 'dad reaction'. The sight of her father boning the English rookie is enough to scar your Sydney for life.''

Jack snorted, zipping up his pants first and then buttoning up his shirt.

''When you're CIA, you've seen it all. I'm sure she can handle her old man having a little fun once in a while.''

I stood up, smoothed my skirt down over my thighs and shook my hair out of my face. We were knee-deep in the shit with his offspring now and I was mortified.

''I wish I could agree with you, baby. The only thing that scares me is facing the Sydney Bristow wrath. She already hates me."

Jack slowly got to his feet, still a little wobbly.

''Leave Sydney to me. And quit calling me 'baby'. There's no place here for over-familiarity. ''

I wrinkled my nose.

''Well... only if you start calling me Mel.''

Jack snorted; such a request was laughable. He raised an eyebrow, turned on his heel and walked away, still slightly unsteady on his feet. I was left standing there on my own like a fool, fighting the pang of disappointment that he wouldn't engage with me any further. There was no logic to my feelings; I was falling in love with this sarcastic, emotionless bastard. Jack Bristow was what he was, and I'd already accepted that. He was always measured. Calculated. Pragmatic. I still longed to see a softer side to him. Maybe one day, he'd actually let me in.