It's a good thing. Steve coming down when Danny drags him, because they need to be on the same page, need to be in this together, like Steve said, like Danny said. It's not Steve doing this to Danny, it's both of them, doing it together.

Right.

Which is all the more necessary when Steve's finger slips out, leaving him feeling strangely empty, and then pushes back in, with another, scissoring apart and ripping the first true tear of actual pain through him. Not just discomfort. Like tearing skin, ripping stitches, and his breath catches in all the wrong ways while he rides it out, muscles thrumming and fingers white-knuckled against Steve's skin, breath shoving straight out of his chest.

It doesn't last, thankfully. Pain dulls quickly and it has a way of carting away even the memory of it as soon as it stops being felt, but his body is cautious, uncertain, unsure if it's going to happen again, if it'll be like that every time, even as he starts adjusting to further intrusion, two fingers stretching parts of him that's he's pretty sure were never meant to be stretched. Steve's palm cupped between his legs. A low groan that's more reaction to discomfort than it is to desire, but it's getting better.

More quickly than he'd think, though there was definitely a backwards step for a second, there, muscles clenching hard, body freezing up briefly, breathing against Steve's mouth as his eyes close and he focuses. Lets it roll through him. Makes relaxation a conscious effort, breathes it in and out until he can feel himself opening up.

And maybe this is the flaw in his plan, because he's good at talking Steve over a ledge or off one, but this is verging into brand-new territory and he needs a second just as much as he doesn't, as much as he's sure it's probably better to just shove ahead and damn the consequences.

Or maybe not. He doesn't know, which is sort of the point.