Its only by his own merit she can even do it - the line of her profile against his is demands he loosen his grip on her neck, that he let his elbow bend. But he does it, he lets her: the press of her nose against his cheek, the scud of her breathing near his mouth but nowhere close enough to touch.

He doesn't know what she means by it, but he does know something low in him heats and quickens at her winding nearer. It's her knee between his legs, sure, but he can taste her breath and it tugs at a dark uncalculated bit of him that he doesn't have a name for and-- Charlie shifts his fingers at her throat, turns his face incrementally to hers - a wild, unbidden moment of curiosity or give.

It's good training.