Disclaimer: Belongs to Sandy Frank and Tatsunoko. I only play with the pretty birdies and make no money out of them. If I did, then Zark wouldn't exist.

I've known her since we were children, we've laughed, trained, cried and even fought together. But she's always been one of the family, her being a girl really nothing we allowed for, or even really acknowledged. She's just Princess.

Until now. It's like I saw her for the first time, and yet, she was no different to countless other times.

When we first saw her uniform, I thought she'd have more of a reaction than she did. Like kill the designer. Even Jason mentioned how little protection it offered, compared to ours. I immediately asked why she had to wear a dress - surely it would be more practical for her to wear a jumpsuit like the rest of us. After all, if Tiny can, why not Princess.

Anderson didn't really give much of an answer, and I just shrugged it off.

We all became used to the uniform, and even adapted for when she'd be vulnerable because of that skirt. After her first leg injury, they changed it, and it did become an all in one, with a very fine skin coloured leggings attached to the tops of her boots, and her leotard underneath. I felt a lot happier then – Princess was more protected.

We were training this morning, and that's when I first noticed something seemed different about her.

I still can't believe the shock I felt, even though it was over something as minor as her raising her arm and wiping sweat off her brow.

She grinned at me as she did it, and I tried to grin back, but suddenly I couldn't move. My mouth was dry, and I felt my body tighten, and my blood surge through me – like it does before battle, but it was different.

We were playing tennis, and I'd trounced her (it was close though – but I had a little bit more stamina than she did, and that was what did it in the end). She raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow as she moved towards the net.

That was when I noticed. Her breasts moved. Under her white shirt, as she raised her arm, her breasts moved, and I was conscious as never before that she was a woman.

Her breasts moved, and I noticed, as we came face to face at the net, how her shirt clung to them. I could see that they were high, not too big, and firm. And I wanted to know what they felt like, looked like. I saw a bead of sweat vanish under the neck of her shirt, and I just knew that it was going down to the valley between her breasts, and I wanted badly to replace that moisture with my lips.

I tried to speak, but my mouth was too dry, and all that came out was a croak.

Then she laughed, and her breasts moved again. "Good game, Mark, glad I nearly won."

This time I got words out. "Nearly won? I just need a drink of water is all."

"Yeah, and that only happens when I've pushed you to your limit. Don't you think I know you after all these years? Besides, it was only one point you won by."

And here I was thinking I'd known her too – yet I didn't, or at least, not really seen her. I had to say something. Had to concentrate on the conversation, forget that gorgeous body. "Jason cheated".

"Pardon?" came a voice behind me. "I wasn't even playing. How could I cheat?"

"You always cheat when you keep score at tennis, Jason. You can't seem to help yourself."

"I'm hurt, Mark. Truly hurt."

Then, Princess did something that made me wish, for the first time in my life, that I was Jason. She put her hand on his shoulder, went onto tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. "You cheated, Jase. Mark's right – you always do." Then she was walking away, and I watched something else I'd only just noticed.

Her gorgeous ass. "Gack" was all that came out of my mouth.

Jason looked at me closely and handed me a towel. "You're drooling, Mark," and he was gone, running up to Princess, scooping her up and sprinting to the pool, jumping, with her in his arms, into the cool water.

I wished it was me, holding that beautiful, lithe body in my arms. Well, I wished it until she thumped him. And then, when she got out of the pool, I was glad I was where I was. Because the white of her shirt and shorts had become semi-transparent, not to mention plastered to her.

I could see the faint pinkness of her skin under her clothing, and the full, roundness of her breasts under her shirt, and the way her shorts clung between her legs.

There was only one word going through my mind.

"Mine!"