Războinic.

Inside was the automaton: Războinic. A full sized human male: the image of Bucky. Naked, but for a short dark blue wrap around his waist, long enough to cover his modesty. This Bucky had golden skin and thick dark hair. His prosthetic arm was made of smooth golden plates, interspersed with liquid gold connections. His body was covered in strange dark gold and cinnamon glyphs.

Zemo drank his fill of the sight of him, then spoke one word. “Războinic.”

The automaton opened up his eyes. They were fiery azure blue. He sighted on Zemo. “Master.”

“When we are in company, call me Baron.”

“Baron.”

Zemo indicated for him to step out of the sarcophagus, and he gracefully walked out to stand facing Zemo. He smelled delicious, for one just out of a box. Zemo resisted the urge to run his fingers over that well-muscled golden chest.

“When we are alone, you may choose what to call me.”

“And if I cannot choose, Baron?”

Baron? thought Zemo. But we are alone, are we not? He tilted his head quizzically at Războinic.

Războinic pointed an arm to the sarcophagus. Walked to a glyph painted on the right hand side. Indented within it was a microphone. He tilted his head at Zemo. Zemo nodded. Smiled. Războinic smiled back.

“Call me Zemo.” 

“As you wish.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed.” Zemo took his arm, walked him out of the room. “You can wear some of my clothes for now. Tomorrow, I will call for the tailor.”

At the door, Zemo paused, pressed the intercom button. “Oeznik, have the sarcophagus put in storage, there’s a good chap.” ‘There’s a good chap’ held a wealth of coded information.

“Baron,” Războinic asked, deferentially, as they walked into the corridor.

“Yes?”

“Show me around your house first, if you please.”

“Of course. And, while I do that, what would you like me to call you?”

“Războinic is sufficient.” His Romanian pronunciation was perfect.

“Yes. I see. Războinic when we are in company, yes. But when we are alone, what then?”

“Războinic is still sufficient, Zemo.” They stepped into the library.

“But, sufficient is not acceptable to me. What would you like.”

“I will accept whatever you deem appropriate.”

“Stubborn,” Zemo smiled and patted his arm. “While I admire your self-effacement, I would like to know your preference.”

“I…” Războinic stopped and thought. Images flooded his mind, coalesced into memory. “I… I like… James.”

Zemo’s heart lifted. “James.”

As they looked around Zemo’s mansion, Războinic spoke Zemo’s name in every room. Always, he could say Zemo. Never once, did he need to revert to Baron. 

Upstairs, he began to get a little more relaxed. 

In the private elevator, he ventured “Helmut.”

Zemo smiled at him encouragingly. “Yes,” he said. “Good.”

Războinic smirked to himself as they entered the second bedroom, murmured “Hel,” turning his head just slightly to see Zemo’s reaction. Zemo smiled to himself. Războinic grinned.

In the second bedroom’s en suite, Războinic tried “Mutty.” Zemo laughed.

In the music room, he said “Muzzy.” Zemo’s eyes widened fractionally.

Emboldened, in Zemo’s master bedroom, he whispered “Freckles,” with a boyish grin, and Zemo turned to face him. Put a hand on his chest.

Războinic stopped grinning, searched Zemo’s face. Zemo gave nothing away. Războinic dropped his eyes, then his shoulders.

Zemo smirked. Put a finger under Războinic’s chin to lift his face. Tilted his head at him. “James,” he whispered, and hope bloomed in Războinic’s eyes. “Say that one again.”

Războinic licked his lips. “Freckles,” he whispered, pupils dilating.

Zemo leaned in very slowly. Războinic angled his face to him. “I find,” Zemo licked his own lips, then continued in a soft whisper, “I find I like that.”

He brushed his lips over Războinic’s, softly, gently. Războinic closed his eyes and couldn’t control the little moan escaping. He took an involuntary step closer to Zemo.

Zemo pulled away, his finger still under Războinic’s chin. “My James,” he murmured, moving his hand round to the back of Războinic’s neck, up into his hair.

“Your James,” whispered Războinic, his voice thick and husky.

Zemo searched his face for a long moment. Gazed into those crystal blue eyes, noticed the variable blues in the irises. Noted that particular freckle on his forehead and the little smattering of them on his left cheek near his ear. Glanced at his corded neck muscles. Looked at the perfect cheekbones, the slight blush, the reddened lips. 

He was immensely satisfied with what he saw.

“Hmmmm,” he murmured. “Let’s get you in the shower.”

***