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The little moans accompanied by breathy pleases and incoherent words were simply stroking his ego. Having reduced the other to vowels that make little to no sense every time he tried to speak was most likely a feat not done by many.
Then again, he wasn't in the greatest of conditions either, flushed skin threatened to burn, his own throat releasing a groan or two every now and then as his hands slid over his hips and towards his rear to give a firm squeeze and dug his fingers in with a force enough to bruise, simply relishing the loud moan when the other released, and continued to rock his hips against the other almost desperately.
He tilted his head back when he felt his tongue trace a wet trail up his neck, the coolness it brought added a contrast to the heat that was spreading everywhere and sparking his nerves-- he shudders, then, giving one last thrust in to bury himself in deep, reaching his climax with a moan, his name nearly slipping his tongue.
The Italian tries to relax himself then, his breathing still shallow and quick but attempting to regain his normal breathing pattern, experimentally rolling his hips before slowly easing his hold on him, sliding his palms up the expanse of the others back instead.
