Beauty can't be only skin deep, Jack thinks—delighting in the times when the curse is half off half on and he can peel the skin away strip by strip in the moonlight, exposing nerve endings sensitive almost past bearing; times when James cries and shudders at every touch, shifting hungrily closer so Jack can plunge his hands deep inside him, tangling in the endless lengths of James' intestines, then higher, until he can feel James' heart beating fast and unsteady in his hands; when he can wrap his mouth around the raw flesh of James' cock and suck, savouring the taste of it hot and pulsing against his tongue until tremors run through James' body and he has to take hold of his spine to balance him, sucking still harder; times when, at the end, James rasps his name with broken vocal cords before coming apart completely, those green eyes of his fluttering shut over a heartbreakingly sweet smile—and thinks again, because it's a thought worth thinking twice: beauty can't be only skin deep, when so much of what's inside is what matters.