For the past fifteen minutes, Tao had been switching back and forth between spinning around in a rolling chair and sprawling himself out in numerous ridiculous positions on the black leather couch of the waiting room. Why can't he just focus for ten minutes? You had an MC gig in two hours and neither of you know a word of the script. It's no help that Tao is both distracted and a distraction. Even though you know there's no reason to anymore, you keep looking over at him, at his long legs lazily spread wherever, at his hands that keep pushing his hair from his face.

He settles in an upside-down position on the couch and looks at his cards without reading them. Finally completely exasperated, he drops them and groans, “Why is this so boring?”
 

“Do that again,” you tell him, surprised at your own words. Practicing for this MC thing has apparently got you both drooling. It only takes him a second to muster up a rebuttal, having been naturally distracted by his own muses anyway.
 

“What? This?” he says and groans again. Even if he was only joking, that was exactly what you wanted. You watch his chest exaggeratedly rise and fall at the excess of breath used. You fail to stifle your giggles, and his expression suddenly turns smug as he grins at you. You feel kind of guilty for fully unleashing Tao’s mischief, knowing you should really be studying the script, but it’s too late for silly regrets, and you were getting nowhere anyway. He switches back to the rolling chair, and rolls toward you with his tongue in his cheek. Not knowing his motives, you pretend to ignore him and look back at the script, but he doesn’t stop getting closer. Soon the seat of his chair bumps into the side of yours. Wrapping one arm around your shoulders, he scoots closer until you can feel his breath playing with your ear. You swear you can feel him smile as he inhales, and then slowly, he moans ever so sensually into your ear.

Looks like this is going to be a lot harder than you had imagined.