Title: The Kiss
Author: islingtonroad
Fandom: Ned Kelly, movie-verse.
Pairing: Ned/Joe
Rating: PG
Summary: Joe has issues regarding Aaron, Ned has issues regarding Aaron,
Ned has issues regarding Joe and Joe shows Ned a thing or two.
Author's Notes: Uh, yeah. this is inspired by Ned Kelly the movie and not
any other factual, historical, serious type information - not even Our
Sunshine on which the movie was based. It contains SLASH elements. Which
you might have already realised. Or not. This is written purely as a form
of therapeutic idiocy - mainly 'cos I thought it should've happened in the
movie. I certainly would've enjoyed it more. Please bear in mind that while
this is mildly angsty it is not a serious attempt at characterisation or
stream-of-conscienceness . It isn't serious. At all. Trust me, I should
know. From what I can remember of the film all the action is correct up
until Ned and Joe scarper after 'confronting' Aaron - there on in it
degenerates into my wild imaginings. If you don't believe me - see the
movie.
**Special Note To My Anonymous Reviewer** Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on this little fic, I feel sorry that you went to so much effort to inform me of my historical inaccuracies when it was not historically based. But since this was listed under miscellaneous movies (and I labelled it 'Ned Kelly - the movie' in the description) I don't feel that bad. However, I did add all the above information especially for you and anyone else who may not have noticed those little details. It also would've been nice if you hadn't been anonymous so I didn't have to put this special note on the fic itself but I didn't want you to think your efforts went unnoticed.
The Kiss
"What's he done? That Aaron...," Joe trailed off, turning to Ned. They stood on a ridge overlooking the end of the main road of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (some dodgy outback town) as what could have passed for a cavalry charge rode in. All policemen. All handpicked by Hare as his special force. His special force to catch the Kelly Gang.
Joe closed his eyes against the sight, against the dust thrown up by the outcome of his friend's betrayal.
Betrayal.
The notion left a sour taste in his mouth.
Aaron had been his mate - his best mate - since, well, since forever. They'd grown up in the same poor, dirty, half-starved village in equally poor, dirty, half-starved families. They'd been raised together, sent to school together, eaten wrinkled apples during sermons together, been removed from Sunday school together, kicked stones together, stolen rides from just as stolen horses together, filched food together, drank whatever they could nick together and ultimately been arrested together. Accused of petty theft and resisting arrest. Then they'd been sentenced together. Served time together. Been released and remembered freedom. Together.
Always together and now...
"And now this. I don't understand, Ned. I just don't...," Joe trailed off again. Lowered his head.
Ned stood there staring, watching the dust, raised by the riders, settle. Hands fisted by his sides and jaw clenched Ned radiated fury. He'd known something was up with Aaron. Ned knew people who knew people who kept their eyes open. He'd known alright that Aaron had been kept in gaol. He knew exactly how many days he'd been locked up - the same way he'd known all the names of all the people that'd been locked up because of that putrid policeman's filthy lies. Oh, he'd known alright. And he'd known that Aaron must've agreed to something, otherwise there's no way he would've been let out at all. When he and Joe had spoken to him the other night and he'd refused to be their scout he'd thought that'd been it. No more help from that quarter. Fair's fair, the man did have a woman to look out for now, and, if the truth'd been told, a wee one on the way, too.
But this...
This betrayal, this two-facedness, turning tail and telling on them. May as well have turned them in then and there and saved everyone the trouble of setting an ambush at the bank in the town and involving all those bystanders. Innocent bystanders. Not that he, Ned, hadn't thought something like this could happen. Would happen. Was only a matter of time before something like this was bound to happen and that he'd in fact been expecting to happen. So he wasn't angry because someone had finally broken. Oh no. Ned was angry. Livid. Furious. Because of Joe.
Because Joe had turned towards him and had been hurt by what his friend had done. His eyes, those soft brown eyes, had been saddened. Been made sad by that that yellow, grovelling, weaseling, festering turncoat traitor. And Ned was not about to forgive Aaron for doing that to Joe's eyes. Ever.
"We'd best change our plans then, hadn't we?" he said to Joe, and turning, began to walk down from the ridge.
--o--
Joe stood silent and still as Ned wrestled with the layers and layers of once-white fabric, his sister's old dress. Trying to arrange the folds just so, so it disguised not only the clothes underneath but also the shape of them. He wanted Aaron to believe his visitor was female until it was too late - Aaron and any of Aaron's guests. And while he had considered it, Ned'd thought that strapping some mounds of padding to Joe's chest might really be pushing Joe's boundaries. He had, after all, agreed to murder his best friend and wear a dress all in the one night - anything else might just be a bit too much.
"It's not working, Joe," said Ned, taking a step back to get some perspective. "Your jacket's going to have to go, the dress just won't hang right elsewise." Joe just stood there. So, Ned stepped forward again and began removing the dress. When he'd reached the brown linen of the offending jacket Joe just raised his arms without a word. Obligingly, Ned reached out and started unbuttoning. He was on to the third button which was proving to be stubborn when his mind finally caught up with the action of his fingers.
He was undressing Joe.
He, Ned Kelly, was touching Joe Byrnes' chest.
Ned's fingers stuttered and stilled. He swallowed thickly. He thought to himself that this was wrong somehow, noticing how he was touching his friend was somehow not right. Really not right. It was skewed, off, odd. Queer. Noticing and wanting his notice to be noticed in return. Wanting Joe to realise that Ned was touching him, touching him in a way that was... inappropriate. To realise that and to keep wanting Ned to touch him like that.
Joe made a noise. Although nearly inaudible it was enough to shock Ned out of his reverie. Searching Joe's face for signs that he'd noticed what Ned'd been thinking he saw nothing more than the inward-looking blankness that had been there all day. Ned was strangely relieved and even more strangely disappointed. That realisation made him blush and Ned was suddenly grateful for the darkness and his rather impressive set of facial whiskers.
Unnerved by those thoughts and feelings Ned was nevertheless able to get back to unbuttoning Joe's jacket and finally conquered the third button. However, the blush refused to fade. It remained hot on his face and down his neck.
At the undoing of the last button Ned shucked the jacket off of Joe's patiently raised arms and tossed it over to their pile of gear. Without looking away from Joe's blank stare Ned muttered softly "Best take the shirt off, too, don't you think?" And without waiting for any sign of assent or even comprehension he began on those buttons, too. Joe just stood there. Blank eyes open, maybe seeing, maybe not.
Ned couldn't believe what he was doing. He could not believe it. His breathing, which had apparently stopped just moments before, had speeded up and was on the verge of being called panting. His blush had spread from his face and neck to all over the front of his body. All over. And his back felt prickly-hot and -cold.
He was touching Joe Byrnes' skin.
His knuckles and the backs of his fingers were continually brushing side-to- side against Joe's smooth chest. Warm, smooth chest. Firm, warm, smooth chest. Living, firm, warm, smooth chest that radiated Joe Byrnes-ness.
Ned just prayed that he'd never run out of buttons. Heaven, he decided, was eternity of unbuttoning his friend's shirt. He didn't care what kind of a freak that made him.
Prayers unanswered, Ned reached the last button and pulled Joe's shirt off as slowly as he could. Ned could imagine quite clearly the feel of the soft linen moving over his skin and then his imagination supplied, quite clearly also, the feel of hands sliding over the skin exposed by the shirt. Joe's hands. Ned let the shirt drop to the ground.
He just stood there. Staring. Mainly at Joe's naked chest. Sometimes at Joe's face. But mainly at Joe's chest. The nightwind-tightened nipples proved quite distracting.
It was Joe's voice that yanked Ned out of his trance, "The dress, Ned?"
Startled nearly out of his pants all Ned could manage was "Unh" as he raised his eyes from chest to face and then looked into Joe's eyes.
Joe's awake eyes.
There was a mixture of confusion and sadness and hurt, true, but there was no longer blankness or distance. Nor was there anger or disgust which reassured Ned to a small extent. And then, suddenly, there was Joe's smile and Ned thought the sun had come up four hours early. And then he was smiling too and that turned into laughter and then Joe was laughing and it all felt right and natural and right.
Laughing away, Ned bent down to scoop up the discarded dress. "Come on then, Joe, we'll make a right tart out of you yet."
"A tart? Really Ned, in your sister's dress? That's not very nice, y'know."
--o--
It was done.
Joe could not believe it.
Could not believe what he'd just done.
He'd walked up, waited and then watched as Aaron had got closer and closer and then...
Pulled the trigger. Shot his best friend. Shot him dead. Killed him.
And now they were riding away. Both of them, for Ned had been there, too, in the shadows. Joe thought Ned had been there as back up, in case the dress did not allay suspicions and Joe himself had been shot. The reality was that Ned had been there, in the shadows, in the hope that he might have the chance to shoot the bastard himself if Joe had hesitated for even a fraction of a fraction of a second. Maybe Joe understood that. On a deeper level.
And now they were riding away but they weren't riding away from anything. There was no sound of pursuit, no cry of alarm, no panic, no sounds of discovery of Aaron's body. Nothing. Aaron was laid out on the cold ground hours before dawn with a bullet in his head and no one knew. Not his wife. Not his other mates. None of those so-called mates who'd been sitting 'round Aaron's table drinking his wine, eating his food, winning his money, waking his wife. None of them knew. None of them cared. Slumping forward in the saddle, exhausted and cold, Joe knew from the absence of grief that he did not care, either. He just felt hollow.
Eventually Ned slowed down and they walked through the trees to the little clearing that would serve as their hideaway until it was light enough for them to make it back to Dan and Steve. They dismounted and tended to the horses, rubbing them down as best they could. They left the tack on in case they had to get away quickly.
Ned had sat himself down and appeared lost in thought. He was thinking about Joe's chest and the expanse of exposed skin. He was thinking about that guttersnipebastardAaron and how a bullet in the head had really been too good for him and that his death really should have involved something drawn out and painful, preferably with red-hot pokers, bits of wood with nails in them and some form of strong, flesh-eating acid. Or maybe just fists. Half an hour in a room with him, Ned Kelly, and that that foulrankconnivingbetrayingenglishhwhoresonbastard and he'd just beat him to death with his own bare hands. Ned's fists clenched at the thought. He went back to thinking of Joe's skin and his stomach tightened and face flushed.
Thinking of Joe, Ned looked up and frowned in concern over what he saw. Joe had never sat down. He'd stayed standing, his head resting lightly on his horse's shoulder. He was just standing there. Still. Silent. No, not quite silent. Ned could hear muffled, hitching breaths. And not quite still, squinting, Ned could see the slight shake of shoulders, the slighter twitch of arms and hands.
Standing up and going over were actions Ned didn't even think about. Nor did he think about wrapping one arm around his friend's shoulders and leading him gently over to the grass where he'd been sitting. Joe allowed himself to be led. And allowed himself to, just as gently, be pushed to a sitting position on the dew-damp ground with Ned's body next to him and Ned's arm around him and Ned's hand holding his hand and Ned's scent all around him and Ned's warmth spreading into him - Joe hadn't even realised he was cold until then. He hadn't realised he'd been tense until he relaxed into Ned and rested his head under the other man's jaw and felt the prickle of Ned's beard against his forehead.
Slowly, as his breath evened out, Joe began to talk. He talked of childhood and of growing up. Of schoolyard pranks and weekend mischiefs. Of family. Of friends. Of being in gaol and of being free. He said they had grown up together, which Ned had known. That they'd shared everything together, which Ned had known. No, really everything, and Ned had soothed. He said the first girl I ever slept with he was there keeping watch and then I did the same when it was his turn with her, which didn't really surprise Ned. He said they'd almost always shared the same girls, sometimes and the same time, which sort of did surprise Ned. He said when they were in gaol and there were no girls to share they'd.. y'know, which Ned did know. He said when they'd gotten out of gaol it'd never happened again but it had always been there, between them, joining them, which Ned thought he'd kind of known. He said with so much between them that he shouldn't've ever gone to the police, shouldn't've ever sold them out, which Ned had known. He said I feel so sorry for what I've done so sorry for having killed him so sorry so sorry, which Ned had known and so Ned soothed again. He said but I don't feel sorry at all I don't feel anything at all I don't care about him any more, which Ned did not know. He said I wonder when I stopped caring, which Ned wondered too. He said I think I stopped caring about him when I started caring about you, which left Ned breathless.
For the first time in what felt like forever Joe lifted his head and looked at Ned. And they were so close. Their faces were so close as to be almost touching and Ned thought that he could feel the slow, light brush of eyelashes when Joe blinked and Joe thought he could feel his gaze touching Ned's, that their looks could touch. And then they were touching. Ned had tilted his head and bent down and now his lips were touching Joe's lips and they were kissing and it all felt so right and natural and right.
Joe realised that he was being kissed until about half a beat after the fact. Joe thought that since he was sitting on damp ground in a thin dress having just shot someone he had no right to feel so warm. Then he thought with Ned's tongue sliding against his lips it was a surprise he wasn't so warm he'd melted. So he opened his mouth and began to show Ned how a known womaniser got such a reputation.
**Special Note To My Anonymous Reviewer** Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on this little fic, I feel sorry that you went to so much effort to inform me of my historical inaccuracies when it was not historically based. But since this was listed under miscellaneous movies (and I labelled it 'Ned Kelly - the movie' in the description) I don't feel that bad. However, I did add all the above information especially for you and anyone else who may not have noticed those little details. It also would've been nice if you hadn't been anonymous so I didn't have to put this special note on the fic itself but I didn't want you to think your efforts went unnoticed.
The Kiss
"What's he done? That Aaron...," Joe trailed off, turning to Ned. They stood on a ridge overlooking the end of the main road of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (some dodgy outback town) as what could have passed for a cavalry charge rode in. All policemen. All handpicked by Hare as his special force. His special force to catch the Kelly Gang.
Joe closed his eyes against the sight, against the dust thrown up by the outcome of his friend's betrayal.
Betrayal.
The notion left a sour taste in his mouth.
Aaron had been his mate - his best mate - since, well, since forever. They'd grown up in the same poor, dirty, half-starved village in equally poor, dirty, half-starved families. They'd been raised together, sent to school together, eaten wrinkled apples during sermons together, been removed from Sunday school together, kicked stones together, stolen rides from just as stolen horses together, filched food together, drank whatever they could nick together and ultimately been arrested together. Accused of petty theft and resisting arrest. Then they'd been sentenced together. Served time together. Been released and remembered freedom. Together.
Always together and now...
"And now this. I don't understand, Ned. I just don't...," Joe trailed off again. Lowered his head.
Ned stood there staring, watching the dust, raised by the riders, settle. Hands fisted by his sides and jaw clenched Ned radiated fury. He'd known something was up with Aaron. Ned knew people who knew people who kept their eyes open. He'd known alright that Aaron had been kept in gaol. He knew exactly how many days he'd been locked up - the same way he'd known all the names of all the people that'd been locked up because of that putrid policeman's filthy lies. Oh, he'd known alright. And he'd known that Aaron must've agreed to something, otherwise there's no way he would've been let out at all. When he and Joe had spoken to him the other night and he'd refused to be their scout he'd thought that'd been it. No more help from that quarter. Fair's fair, the man did have a woman to look out for now, and, if the truth'd been told, a wee one on the way, too.
But this...
This betrayal, this two-facedness, turning tail and telling on them. May as well have turned them in then and there and saved everyone the trouble of setting an ambush at the bank in the town and involving all those bystanders. Innocent bystanders. Not that he, Ned, hadn't thought something like this could happen. Would happen. Was only a matter of time before something like this was bound to happen and that he'd in fact been expecting to happen. So he wasn't angry because someone had finally broken. Oh no. Ned was angry. Livid. Furious. Because of Joe.
Because Joe had turned towards him and had been hurt by what his friend had done. His eyes, those soft brown eyes, had been saddened. Been made sad by that that yellow, grovelling, weaseling, festering turncoat traitor. And Ned was not about to forgive Aaron for doing that to Joe's eyes. Ever.
"We'd best change our plans then, hadn't we?" he said to Joe, and turning, began to walk down from the ridge.
--o--
Joe stood silent and still as Ned wrestled with the layers and layers of once-white fabric, his sister's old dress. Trying to arrange the folds just so, so it disguised not only the clothes underneath but also the shape of them. He wanted Aaron to believe his visitor was female until it was too late - Aaron and any of Aaron's guests. And while he had considered it, Ned'd thought that strapping some mounds of padding to Joe's chest might really be pushing Joe's boundaries. He had, after all, agreed to murder his best friend and wear a dress all in the one night - anything else might just be a bit too much.
"It's not working, Joe," said Ned, taking a step back to get some perspective. "Your jacket's going to have to go, the dress just won't hang right elsewise." Joe just stood there. So, Ned stepped forward again and began removing the dress. When he'd reached the brown linen of the offending jacket Joe just raised his arms without a word. Obligingly, Ned reached out and started unbuttoning. He was on to the third button which was proving to be stubborn when his mind finally caught up with the action of his fingers.
He was undressing Joe.
He, Ned Kelly, was touching Joe Byrnes' chest.
Ned's fingers stuttered and stilled. He swallowed thickly. He thought to himself that this was wrong somehow, noticing how he was touching his friend was somehow not right. Really not right. It was skewed, off, odd. Queer. Noticing and wanting his notice to be noticed in return. Wanting Joe to realise that Ned was touching him, touching him in a way that was... inappropriate. To realise that and to keep wanting Ned to touch him like that.
Joe made a noise. Although nearly inaudible it was enough to shock Ned out of his reverie. Searching Joe's face for signs that he'd noticed what Ned'd been thinking he saw nothing more than the inward-looking blankness that had been there all day. Ned was strangely relieved and even more strangely disappointed. That realisation made him blush and Ned was suddenly grateful for the darkness and his rather impressive set of facial whiskers.
Unnerved by those thoughts and feelings Ned was nevertheless able to get back to unbuttoning Joe's jacket and finally conquered the third button. However, the blush refused to fade. It remained hot on his face and down his neck.
At the undoing of the last button Ned shucked the jacket off of Joe's patiently raised arms and tossed it over to their pile of gear. Without looking away from Joe's blank stare Ned muttered softly "Best take the shirt off, too, don't you think?" And without waiting for any sign of assent or even comprehension he began on those buttons, too. Joe just stood there. Blank eyes open, maybe seeing, maybe not.
Ned couldn't believe what he was doing. He could not believe it. His breathing, which had apparently stopped just moments before, had speeded up and was on the verge of being called panting. His blush had spread from his face and neck to all over the front of his body. All over. And his back felt prickly-hot and -cold.
He was touching Joe Byrnes' skin.
His knuckles and the backs of his fingers were continually brushing side-to- side against Joe's smooth chest. Warm, smooth chest. Firm, warm, smooth chest. Living, firm, warm, smooth chest that radiated Joe Byrnes-ness.
Ned just prayed that he'd never run out of buttons. Heaven, he decided, was eternity of unbuttoning his friend's shirt. He didn't care what kind of a freak that made him.
Prayers unanswered, Ned reached the last button and pulled Joe's shirt off as slowly as he could. Ned could imagine quite clearly the feel of the soft linen moving over his skin and then his imagination supplied, quite clearly also, the feel of hands sliding over the skin exposed by the shirt. Joe's hands. Ned let the shirt drop to the ground.
He just stood there. Staring. Mainly at Joe's naked chest. Sometimes at Joe's face. But mainly at Joe's chest. The nightwind-tightened nipples proved quite distracting.
It was Joe's voice that yanked Ned out of his trance, "The dress, Ned?"
Startled nearly out of his pants all Ned could manage was "Unh" as he raised his eyes from chest to face and then looked into Joe's eyes.
Joe's awake eyes.
There was a mixture of confusion and sadness and hurt, true, but there was no longer blankness or distance. Nor was there anger or disgust which reassured Ned to a small extent. And then, suddenly, there was Joe's smile and Ned thought the sun had come up four hours early. And then he was smiling too and that turned into laughter and then Joe was laughing and it all felt right and natural and right.
Laughing away, Ned bent down to scoop up the discarded dress. "Come on then, Joe, we'll make a right tart out of you yet."
"A tart? Really Ned, in your sister's dress? That's not very nice, y'know."
--o--
It was done.
Joe could not believe it.
Could not believe what he'd just done.
He'd walked up, waited and then watched as Aaron had got closer and closer and then...
Pulled the trigger. Shot his best friend. Shot him dead. Killed him.
And now they were riding away. Both of them, for Ned had been there, too, in the shadows. Joe thought Ned had been there as back up, in case the dress did not allay suspicions and Joe himself had been shot. The reality was that Ned had been there, in the shadows, in the hope that he might have the chance to shoot the bastard himself if Joe had hesitated for even a fraction of a fraction of a second. Maybe Joe understood that. On a deeper level.
And now they were riding away but they weren't riding away from anything. There was no sound of pursuit, no cry of alarm, no panic, no sounds of discovery of Aaron's body. Nothing. Aaron was laid out on the cold ground hours before dawn with a bullet in his head and no one knew. Not his wife. Not his other mates. None of those so-called mates who'd been sitting 'round Aaron's table drinking his wine, eating his food, winning his money, waking his wife. None of them knew. None of them cared. Slumping forward in the saddle, exhausted and cold, Joe knew from the absence of grief that he did not care, either. He just felt hollow.
Eventually Ned slowed down and they walked through the trees to the little clearing that would serve as their hideaway until it was light enough for them to make it back to Dan and Steve. They dismounted and tended to the horses, rubbing them down as best they could. They left the tack on in case they had to get away quickly.
Ned had sat himself down and appeared lost in thought. He was thinking about Joe's chest and the expanse of exposed skin. He was thinking about that guttersnipebastardAaron and how a bullet in the head had really been too good for him and that his death really should have involved something drawn out and painful, preferably with red-hot pokers, bits of wood with nails in them and some form of strong, flesh-eating acid. Or maybe just fists. Half an hour in a room with him, Ned Kelly, and that that foulrankconnivingbetrayingenglishhwhoresonbastard and he'd just beat him to death with his own bare hands. Ned's fists clenched at the thought. He went back to thinking of Joe's skin and his stomach tightened and face flushed.
Thinking of Joe, Ned looked up and frowned in concern over what he saw. Joe had never sat down. He'd stayed standing, his head resting lightly on his horse's shoulder. He was just standing there. Still. Silent. No, not quite silent. Ned could hear muffled, hitching breaths. And not quite still, squinting, Ned could see the slight shake of shoulders, the slighter twitch of arms and hands.
Standing up and going over were actions Ned didn't even think about. Nor did he think about wrapping one arm around his friend's shoulders and leading him gently over to the grass where he'd been sitting. Joe allowed himself to be led. And allowed himself to, just as gently, be pushed to a sitting position on the dew-damp ground with Ned's body next to him and Ned's arm around him and Ned's hand holding his hand and Ned's scent all around him and Ned's warmth spreading into him - Joe hadn't even realised he was cold until then. He hadn't realised he'd been tense until he relaxed into Ned and rested his head under the other man's jaw and felt the prickle of Ned's beard against his forehead.
Slowly, as his breath evened out, Joe began to talk. He talked of childhood and of growing up. Of schoolyard pranks and weekend mischiefs. Of family. Of friends. Of being in gaol and of being free. He said they had grown up together, which Ned had known. That they'd shared everything together, which Ned had known. No, really everything, and Ned had soothed. He said the first girl I ever slept with he was there keeping watch and then I did the same when it was his turn with her, which didn't really surprise Ned. He said they'd almost always shared the same girls, sometimes and the same time, which sort of did surprise Ned. He said when they were in gaol and there were no girls to share they'd.. y'know, which Ned did know. He said when they'd gotten out of gaol it'd never happened again but it had always been there, between them, joining them, which Ned thought he'd kind of known. He said with so much between them that he shouldn't've ever gone to the police, shouldn't've ever sold them out, which Ned had known. He said I feel so sorry for what I've done so sorry for having killed him so sorry so sorry, which Ned had known and so Ned soothed again. He said but I don't feel sorry at all I don't feel anything at all I don't care about him any more, which Ned did not know. He said I wonder when I stopped caring, which Ned wondered too. He said I think I stopped caring about him when I started caring about you, which left Ned breathless.
For the first time in what felt like forever Joe lifted his head and looked at Ned. And they were so close. Their faces were so close as to be almost touching and Ned thought that he could feel the slow, light brush of eyelashes when Joe blinked and Joe thought he could feel his gaze touching Ned's, that their looks could touch. And then they were touching. Ned had tilted his head and bent down and now his lips were touching Joe's lips and they were kissing and it all felt so right and natural and right.
Joe realised that he was being kissed until about half a beat after the fact. Joe thought that since he was sitting on damp ground in a thin dress having just shot someone he had no right to feel so warm. Then he thought with Ned's tongue sliding against his lips it was a surprise he wasn't so warm he'd melted. So he opened his mouth and began to show Ned how a known womaniser got such a reputation.