Oh, someone kicked ass with that prompt.

He travels to the tune of a memory – dark leather and hot flesh, pressing against him, inside him. Sawyer grips the metal between his thighs, hugs the turns, and counts the mile markers, every one pulling him further away from the doc, from Jack.

That is truly one hell of an opening.

I love that you didn't forget who Sawyer was before the island, what he's done. It gives this a certain edge.

Great job!