Tony didn't really feel the full weight of what he was doing, perhaps. It wasn't that he felt invincible, or even that he was something even approximating safe in his own home; he'd had his lesson in obedience only a few years ago, and he remembered it vividly. Except in a few select situations (face-to-face meetings, mostly - he was downright miserable at keeping his mouth shut when the person he wanted to give some lip to was right there), his desire to flaunt the men in power was pretty low. He knew what happened when the rules were broken, he didn't want it to happen again, and when he could, he toed the line.
But he wasn't always the best at calculating risks. This was dangerous, yes, and it was forbidden, but - who was going to tell on him? Not Jarvis. Maybe it would be a one-time thing. Maybe it would slip away again tomorrow, when he woke up sober and sullen. But now the novelty value was very high, and he really, really wanted someone to talk to, so his math came out firmly on the side of: just do it.
Really, how bad could it be.
With one more lift of his glass, he left the kitchen, wandering back to his spot on the sofa, where he landed with his plate and his glass and promptly put his feet up on the coffee table. He did, however, spread that napkin neatly across his lap before starting in on his potatoes. A promise was a promise.