Sam would have like to have raised an eyebrow archly and ask "Chameleon boy?" because it was a new one and he'd thought there weren't any new ones ages ago.

But then Fritz moved and his thought fled skittering like a field of disturbed butterflies. All he had left was to rock up against hard muscles and soft blue fur and gasp like he'd run a marathon.

Fritz was good, and he whimpered for more.