It was the nutmeg that started it all.  Blair was making Christmas pudding, and Jim stuck his finger in the batter and licked it clean.  Nutmeg was the only thing in there he didn't eat regularly.  Chalk another one up to Jim's weird allergies and hypersensitivity; he hit the floor with a dull thud.

Blair was almost used to it now, so he just sighed, put down his spoon and tried to bring Jim around.  Two minutes of face patting and "Wake up, Jim" finally did the trick, and there he was.

Only not quite back to normal.

"Mmmm, pretty." 

Blair blinked.  He'd been called pretty before, but not by Jim.  Looked like Jim was stoned.  On nutmeg.  Weird, but nothing he couldn't handle.

'Handle' turned out to be a poor choice of words, Blair thought as he tried to get Jim up the stairs to sleep it off.  Jim seemed to have hands everywhere, and they kept petting him.

"Jim, into bed, you need to let this work its way out of your system."

"Mmmm, bed."  Jim dived for the bed.  Unfortunately, he didn't let go of Blair, who ended up pressed against the mattress with Jim sprawled all over him.  "Always been a sucker for redheads."

It took Blair a moment to realise Jim was talking about him.  "Uh, it's not really that red, Jim."

"Yeah it is.  Close up it's just beautiful."  Jim wound one curl around his finger.

There were certain conclusions to be drawn when someone called you 'pretty', 'beautiful', groped you, and dragged you into their bed, and Blair's mental artist had drawn a Mona Lisa of a conclusion.  "Jim, what are you doing?"

Jim's answer involved wriggling firmly on top of Blair, sucking on his hair, and pressing the bulge in the front of his jeans into Blair's thigh.

"Oh man, this would be fun if you were sober."  Blair wasn't sure if he'd said that out loud or not, but either way, Jim seemed too interested in humping his leg to listen.  "Jim, you have to stop now.  You're going to be really embarrassed tomorrow if you don't."

"Blame it on the senses." 

Blair had two choices.  He could fight it, and since he still had one leg between Jim's, and was adept at the 'knee 'em in the groin' method of self defence, he had a good chance of getting away.  Or he could lie there and let Jim rub himself off, possibly both of them off.  The first option would mean Jim guilt-tripping about trying to molest his best friend, and a lot of crap about whether or not his senses were safe.  The second option meant… Blair wasn't sure what it meant, but he was betting that a little short-term fun would involve a lot more embarrassment for both of them.

Jim shifted up a little, forcing a gasp out of Blair, whose body suddenly decided that the brain was an overrated organ, and re-routed its allocated blood-flow to parts southward.  After that, the two choices changed to 'hump back' or 'squeeze Jim's ass'.

So it wasn't great sex.  It wasn't even mediocre sex.  It was crappy, uncomfortable frottage that gave Blair friction burns where he really didn't want them.  But it was with Jim, so that made everything else worth it.  Blair lay there afterward, Jim passed out beside him, and his underwear in a clammy twisted knot, and wondered what the Hell was going to happen next.

Turned out, what happened next happened in the shower, and was a whole Hell of a lot better than in the bed.

~

"So… nutmeg, huh?" 

"Mmmm, who'd have thought?"

"Only, I could have sworn I saw you eating a nutmeg-dusted vanilla cream doughnut last week."

"I think that was cinnamon."

"You are so busted, man.  You know, you could have just said, 'hey Blair, I want to jump your bones'."

"You might have said no."

"Yeah, some detective you are."