finding the story...

@metropolois  lois doesn't call bruce often. not at all. rarely calls anyone unless she needs something (and has exhausted all other options). her phone is tucked between her ear and her chin, speaking and effectively cutting off his greeting as soon as he answers. " hey. what's the code for your underground bunker on 43rd. i couldn't brute force it. "

Bruce answers the phone on the first ring, but the only sound coming from his line is the rapid clicking of a keyboard as he allows her to speak without interruption.

"If you're looking for something salacious to blackmail me with, you'd have better luck at the bunker on 12th. Or answering my calls." He deadpans, but he's sure she can make out the slightest hint of a smile, even over the phone.

"Maybe this is a sign to not brute force other people's bunkers." The attempt at a lecture is laughable, but he continues, "Maybe if you asked permission first, you'd be inside already. Or, better yet, I could get you whatever you're looking for remotely. We're well beyond the days of analog, Ms. Lane."

The typing stops, and he clears his throat.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐊, lois  breezes  past  the  low  hanging  fruit,  and  salaciously  cuts  to  her  favorite  part  of  any  conversation  with  bruce  :  bickering  with  him.  '0817'  is  mindlessly  entered  into  the  keypad,  precursing  an  industrial  heave  of  the  sliding  garage  door.

"  puh  -  lease.  i  know  you.  i  know  better  than  to  trust  you  with  whatever  i'm  dealing  with.  you're  even  more  of  an  info-phile  than  me.  "  she  walks  in  like  she  owns  the  place.

" my body lacks the toxins that produce muscular and cardiovascular fatigue. running is as easy as breathing. " he boasted, chin jutting out with prideful disdain.

𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋, lois  answers  with  painful  neutrality.  a  non  -  committal  noise,  like  his  reply  went  in  one  ear,  and  out  the  other.

and, oh, how they love to be mindlessly pampered. it's only demeaning if they allow it to be so, and considering they'd just licked their furry armpit, the shapeshifter taken the sly, sleek form a black cat has opted to enjoy every moment they can free of this so called 'societal red tape'. especially given they get to see lady lane, dread, indomitable media hound darling split her face grinning like a giddy child on a frosty yuletide morning.

"  you  ...  you  ...  "  words  escape  breathless  and  haggard,  eyes  that  strained  red  from  the  computer  screen  now  frozen  wide  in  shock.  her  mind  races  with  past  encounters  with  'mister  whiskers'.  she  fed  loki  ...  held  her  in  her  apartment  ...  kissed  them  ...  gushed  horribly  girlish  things  that  no  sentient  being  should  be  burdened  with  the  knowledge  of.  all  of  which  she  wishes  to  accuse  him  of  ...  but  the  words  die  on  her  tongue.  because  every  act  of  charity  that  lois  lane  had  performed  for  the  god  of  tricks  ...  (  under  the  guise  of  a  pet  )  just  came  right  back  at  her.  he'd  duped  metropolis's  hardest  woman  to  pin  down.  all  while  being  scratched.  and  fawned  over  how  handsome  he  was.

her  face  switches  into  a  stony  expression,  every  line  in  her  face  exaggerated  by  exhaustion.  lois  then,  abruptly  stands.  sending  a  feline  loki  tumbling  to  the  floor.

a  pause,  then  ...  " ha.  "  it  starts  as  a  hiccupping  rumble  in  her  gut,  unconscious  and  erratic.  laughter  that  built  into  loud,  horribly  uncharacteristic,  and  frankly,  concerning  giggles.