There’s something sort of relaxing about just having a conversation while his dick gets played with. Normal, actually, in an odd way. Like talking about another assassination mission while some girl sits in his lap. Ezio just watches her idly, thinking himself.

“I haven’t a clue, dolcezza. I know I was in Venice, at least. 1488? 89? That matters less than the question as to whether we will age here...”

He wouldn’t complain if she looked like this for an eternity, frankly.