"I might have smeared the B a little, though," Jack informed her, a strange new brightness in his eyes. "Right ... there."

He ducked his head to touch his tongue to the spot he meant -- a tiny fingerprint just to the right of her bra strap or equivalent. What was the point of edible body paint if no one licked it off you at all? It would be a waste, and Jack hated waste.

The fact he'd always felt a simmering attraction to Eponine, or at that moment thought he had ... maybe had something to do with it.