Please more of Steve getting turned on by women holding his shield.
It wasn’t often that Maria Hill joined them on missions. She was typically back-of-house, behind-the-scenes, sees-all-knows-all.
Steve knew, objectively, she earned her position within S.H.I.E.L.D. She was competent and clever and calculating and had courage in spades.
Steve had never really seen, first-hand, Maria Hill in combat. She was brutally efficient, like Natasha. She didn’t have the same grace as Natasha, but where Natasha had a dancers grace, Maria Hill had a martial artists.
She also had his shield. He’d thrown it into an oncoming Space Pig (how many weaponzied versions of Earth animals were out there, anyway?) and Maria had grabbed it as it rebounded, using it to both defend herself from one creature and attack another (she decapitated it with ease and a sleek, efficient movement that was all brutal force). She tossed it back his way with a word of warning, without which Steve was fairly sure he’d have been hit in the face by his own shield.
”So that’s how it is?” Came Sam’s voice over his earpiece.
“Don’t you have ‘space bacon to fry’?” Steve asked.
“Don’t be jealous I have all the good lines. But seriously. We need to work on your poker face.”
Steve groaned. “It’s not like anything. I need to work on nothing.”
“Steve.” That was Maria Hil. “Thanks for the shield. And the once-over. It’s nice to know the suit’s still flattering.”
“See?!” Sam gloated.
“Fine. Poker faces. We’ll work on it.”