Here are my set of Action Man drabbles, moved from my site. I have gotten so tired with the popups, so I’ve moved and backdated them. Enjoy! 



Alex did not think of them as people. 

They were the Crowd; an entity to be pleased. One existence, one mind. 

Because as soon as they became people, he knew he would fail. People were not a Crowd. They had opinions, they evaluated and judged and compared. They watched endlessly, waiting for him to slip up; to fall, to trip, to crash. 

There’s only one thing people like to see more than a successful hero, Rikki had told him. They like to see a ruined one. Alex had never forgotten that.  


Alex liked the taste of Fidget’s mouth-- salty and spicy and sweet. 

She tasted like woodsmoke, like summer blueberries, like curry. 

She tasted of fresh, bright spring, of hot, dry summer. Of crisp, cool autumn and of icy, wild winter. She tasted of fresh heat and biting cold. Of rich, enveloping darkness and of bright, shining light. She tasted of old Gods and new discoveries. Like clear, silken water and clean hot sand. Of bravery and charm. Of loyalty and friendship. 

She tasted, Alex realized, of love. 



Holding hands, Rikki had come to conclude, was the most intimate act two people could perform. 

Oh, there was sex, yes. But somehow even that didn’t come close to the feel of another’s hand in your own. The way it was both possessive and passive at the same time. 

Index and middle fingers interlaced, the tip of one of his digits brushing the soft skin on the inner side of Grinder’s own, like the most passionate of embraces, rubbing as they moved. The pointer finger, wrapped around their fists, cuddling them more securely than anything else in the world. Two delicate pinkie fingers, just touching at the tips in the most delicate of kisses. And, of course, a thumb, steadily rubbing at the webbing of his hand, like a deep and steady heartbeat against his ear. 

Rikki liked looking down at their hands, tangled around each other, copper and mocha, steady and sweet. With 
Ginder’s hand in his own, he felt closer to heaven than he’d ever imagined.  


Nick Masters had never felt so powerless in his life. 

It was not a nice feeling, he realized, being completely at another’s whim. The strangulation of constraint, of dominance was foreign to his carefully planned existence. 

And he had planed so meticulously: he knew exactly where he was going and how he was going to get there. He had planned and achieved his goals, his dreams, his destiny. 

And, really, it was one of the things they had in common, when he thought about it. They were both men bent on triumph, on victory; knew it was going to happen, relied on it, even. 

But he had not planned this. 

He had not planned on the twisted pleasure he would receive from a tyrannical madman. Had not planned on the startling wave of pure, white-hot desire he had felt as soon as he saw him. He had not planned to oh-so-willingly spread his legs, open his mouth.
 
He had not planned on loosing control. 



When Fidget was under him, she felt trapped. 

When that slick, hard thing was inside her, and she was under him, and he was clutching at her, fingers as bruises later, she was scared. He was demanding that she give him all of her; and all of her meant her freedom, her pride, her… 

Heart. 

It frightened her; this fierce sweep of feeling; uncontrollable, wild and pure. It meant loosing herself, in him, in her, in Them. 

But when she was on top of him, rocking her hips into him, head back, gasping, she would look into his eyes. And she would see things; see that he loved her, that he would do anything for her, that he… wanted her so very, uncontrollably badly. 

When she saw this; she realized she wasn’t the one who was trapped. 



Once upon a time, when Brandon was still new and fresh and naive, he had been sure he would be the best. He was, after all, strong and fast and smart. 

And then… Alex Mann. 

Stronger, faster, smarter and far, far more beautiful. And the more often he came in second, the more he wanted to be stronger than Him, faster than Him, more beloved than Him. 

In the shower, after a race, he would think of nothing but defeating Alex. His mind swirled with possession; submission –Alex on his knees sucking his cock. Water slicking back the thick mahogany hair, blue eyes smoldering under thick lashes, willingly submitting to Brandon’s every whim. 

He knew that one day his fantasies would not be enough. He knew one day that he would want more than his own slick hands. 

He feared that day.