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Only the light from the fireplace lets Oikawa see his smile. Bright, though he claims he's tired, and had complained some time ago at Oikawa's (gentle) rousing.
Now, Iwaizumi circles him like a predator, and exactly how Oikawa had wanted this to play out when he requested that his knight have an illegal swordfight with him in his quarters because he couldn't sleep, and needed something to rid himself of the energy he still very much had.
They're dressed lightly, which is a blessing because they've been at it for some time; Iwaizumi swinging and Oikawa dodging expertly, and then the roles reversed. Neither of them were being careful, save for the lighter steps and the mindfulness to stay away from some corners (Oikawa, for one, had almost snagged his dress on the bedframe and Iwaizumi's sleeve had been caught on one of the ornate chairs), lest they knock something over (like Oikawa's mirror) and wake the maids, who will then wake the king if they were unlucky enough that Miwa was in a foul mood, and then the king will ban swords in Oikawa's quarters which will lead to Oikawa's early demise because someone is bound to sneak at night at have an attempt at his life.
I'll protect you, Iwaizumi had said in the middle of discussion.
Hush, Iwa-chan, there is still danger!
I'm the only one with the audacity to sneak into your room.
Oikawa hadn't argued with that.
Instead, he'd grinned, risen from where they were perched on the mattress, and taken his sword out its scabbard.
"Then duel with me."
Iwaizumi lunges quickly, eyes shining, and Oikawa gracefully spins away. The skirt of his dress flutters around him—the linen wrapping around his form in waves as he faces Iwaizumi again, all liquid in his courage.
"You dodge so often," the knight says, exasperated, and Oikawa only grins. He'd done that a lot since he woke Iwaizumi. Perhaps he enjoyed his company that much.
He liked it better though, when the other man kept quiet. But he was not doing that now; continuing to lecture the prince on things like form and finding openings.
"I trained with you," he taunted leisurely, bending away from Oikawa's well-placed swing. "Surely Ennoshita-san didn't forget to teach you as he'd taught me."
"So noisy, Iwa-chan," Oikawa panted. He stepped forward, daring to point his sword at Iwaizumi's throat before the move was blocked. "Better when your pretty face is shut the hell up."
"Wouldn't you know the best way to shut me up?"
Oikawa flushes, and it must've shown that he faltered just a bit, because then Iwaizumi shoved him back with his blade, and barely managed to swing at Oikawa's back as he tried to turn away again. His sword catches on something, and he realizes immediately where the snagging sensation was from when no reaction from Oikawa communicated he was hurt.
Quickly, he reaches for the prince and holds him flush against himself by the lower back.
And by the part of Oikawa's dress that had been held up by the thin strings Iwaizumi had just snapped.
In the flurry of panic, Oikawa had dropped his sword, and in that same panic where everything had been muted, Iwaizumi didn't hear, and hopefully neither did the maids, if the carpet is as thick as the artisan had claimed it was. He only takes note of it now, that both Oikawa's hands are flat upon his chest and frozen there in surprise.
He also notes Oikawa's face, which he couldn't see earlier, and how his pretty brown eyes are blown so wide he could see the moonlight in them.
Both of them are breathless, but Oikawa speaks first. It isn't anything of substance, anyway. "Iwa-chan."
Or perhaps it is, if by nothing else but the tone in which he'd said it. Iwaizumi fists at the cloth in his left hand and swallows. "Oikawa."
"You cut my dress."
"I'm sorry."
"My dress—"
"You hardly sound alarmed."
"I can't when I'm this shocked."
"I'm sorry. I didn't... see..."
"And how do you suggest we exit this situation?" the prince kneads at Iwaizumi's shirt.
"Forgive me," the guard whispers lowly, not looking away from Oikawa's eyes. "I have no idea. Perhaps we—"
"The bed," Oikawa says suddenly, then shrinks. "I meant—I meant you must move me to the bed. Guide me there, I can't walk like this."
"Should I not direct us to your closet?"
"As if I will undress in front of you."
"As if you haven't already," Iwaizumi smiles fondly, "prince."
"It's just that I'm shy."
"You look like a sakura petal."
"Not helping."
Iwaizumi wants to stall for a few more muted moments; knows Oikawa would not oppose. He brings his right hand and skims it over Oikawa's arm, which makes him shiver pleasantly.
"Nothing to be shy for," he whispers, soft. And then his hand comes past Oikawa's shoulder to cup his face—gently—and smiles at him before he goes to press their lips together. The prince hums, and Iwaizumi pulls him closer still.
"Now," he chuckles when they pull away. "Bed. You need to sleep."
"Stay with me?" Oikawa asks. "Maybe then I will sleep better."
"Alright."
"And my, um... my clothes?"
Iwaizumi chuckles again. "I'll fetch you some in the morning, love."