Loki didn't flinch in the face of his brother's fists, but his muscles tightened a little, and extra layer of caution blossoming between them. He knew what those fists could do. And though he never expected them to be turned on him, there was still something about seeing his brother make that gesture that made his pulse quicken, just a little, because he couldn't never be quite sure anymore, what he might break, if given the chance. If he was drunk enough. Thor had never used to be unpredictable, not before the Games, although... it was less and less useful to use "before the Games" as any sort of metric, for either of them. It had been so long ago that it was almost impossible to really recall what it had been like, long enough to not quite know whether the rose-tinted nostalgia was warranted.
Loki stayed by the bed as Thor completed his demonstration. It wasn't one that Loki particularly needed -- even if there'd been anything left in the flask, Loki was confident that it wouldn't have been enough to do much more damage than what was already done. Thor's home-brew was strong, certainly, but just one flask of it over the course of the night could only do so much and right now, that was enough for Loki.
"Come and lie down, at least," Loki coaxed. He knew better, by now, than to offer him anything to help him sleep. It was half a miracle that he convinced him to take something as innocuous as aspirin; it would be arrogant (and impossible) to ask for anything more. So instead he said, "Tell me stories of Two. I've missed home."
Home was by no means an easy word for Loki, but he used it now as if it were. Anything, if it would calm his brother's mind a little. Maybe get him to sleep.