Two minutes are all they have; less time than some of their costume changes. It's not enough. But there they are, breathless and panting, puddled against a dark wall and each other, while Lonnie checks the bus.
Two minutes are endless when JC's pressing Joey hard against the cold stone, singing sweetly in his mouth while taking slow, wet sips of his breath and Joey cups his head to stroke him with his big, gentle hands.
Two minutes are an eternity for Lance to lean against Justin, his fingers slipping and sliding over sweaty, baby-fine skin, kneading the hard muscles just under Justin's belly button until the hitch in his breathing changes and he sighs Lance's name.
Two minutes are interminable for Chris as he watches the whisper quiet flow of their bodies, being caught and held by Justin's soft-lidded stare that promises him the next night.
Two minutes are all they have before Lonnie whistles and they all pull slowly apart, slipping from each other's arms and onto the bus, separate and alone.
Two minutes shouldn't be enough, but sometimes, two minutes are all you need.