The connection wasn't just in their minds; it thrummed in their cocks. Adrien—no, *Cat Noir* in his skintight suit—felt Felix’s desire like a live wire in his own dick. Across the room, Felix, as Argos, his suit peeled down to his waist, palmed his own thick erection, his eyes glazed with shared intent.

“You feel that, cousin?” Felix’s voice was a husky command. “My need. My *dominance*.” The psychic link flooded Adrien with the raw image: Felix bending him over, that fat cockhead nudging his tight hole.

But the link was a two-way street. Adrien pushed back, his own fantasy surfacing: him on his knees, Felix’s salty pre-cum beading on his tip. **Cock worship.** The thought was mutual, fervent. They moved as one.

Felix closed the distance, clawed gloves scraping down Adrien’s chest. “On your knees, *Chaton*.” Adrien sank down, the leather of Felix’s codpiece rough against his cheek. He nuzzled the bulge, smelling musk and magic. With a growl, Felix freed his hard length—thick, veined, dripping. Adrien’s tongue darted out, lapping at the pearl of precum. He took the head into his mouth, worshiping with wet, sloppy sucks, his own cock straining in his suit.

The psychic feed amplified every sensation: Adrien’s throat stretching, Felix’s guttural moans, the *